Offline
by unforth
Summary: Reconciling and coming to terms with each other was a long process, but finally Dean and Castiel have restored their mutual trust and are ready to scene again - just in time to meet up in Dallas for the trial. (uhh...I have no idea how to summarize this) (See Chapter 1 Author's note for warnings, etc.) (Last story of SextersAnon verse)
1. Chapter 1

...and we're back for the last installment.

To everyone who wanted me to write them meeting at Christmas: I'm sorry. I actually never planned to do that meeting on screen. Maybe I'll write it as a timestamp at some point in the future?

I have no idea how long this is going to be. I originally thought 30k words but then the first chapter alone is like 7500 and so...yeah no it's going to be longer than 30k, just shoot me now. I'm gonna guess five or six chapters? (I mean, I just sketched out the outline of this story and it has 13 bullet points...Disconnected had 16 bullet points and ended up 66,000 words...soooo...yeah.)

* * *

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Characters: Castiel; Dean Winchester; Alastair; Naomi; Zachariah; Alfie; Charlie Bradbury; Gilda; Sam Winchester; John Winchester; Mary Winchester; Max Miller

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; BDSM; Top Castiel; Bottom Dean; Dom/sub; Sub Castiel; Dom Dean; Angst and Fluff and Smut; Angst with a Happy Ending; Masochism; Sadism; Blood; Bloodplay; Anal Sex; Businessman Castiel; Photographer Dean; Other Additional Tags to Be Added; Shibari; Misconceptions about BDSM; Intercrural Sex; Sex Toys; Rope Bondage; Sex Toys Under Clothing; Butt Plugs

* * *

 **This is Part 4 of the SextersAnondotcom verse. It is not stand-alone and will not make much sense if you do not read the other stories. In order, the stories are:**

 **Story 1: SextersAnondotcom**

 **Story 2: Deactivated**

 **Story 3: Disconnected**

* * *

Tender fingers threaded through Castiel's hair. With a shaky breath, he tried to release the tension binding his shoulders beneath the soft, loose undershirt he wore.

"That's good, Cas," murmured Dean reassuringly.

 _This is what he wants. This is what my dom wants. I can do this_.

Castiel took another shaky breath and eased his head against Dean's thigh. Lunch was spread on the table, sandwiches and chips, fresh berries for dessert, and Dean sat in the stately armed dining chair that headed the table in the dining room of the fanciest hotel suite Castiel had ever stayed in. Kneeling beside him, a thick pillow protected Castiel's knees from the hard floor. Despite all their preparation, despite the hours of discussion that had preceded this day, Castiel was still on edge and nervous. It was their first scene in almost six months – their first scene since Castiel had shattered their dom/sub relationship by lying and hiding and using his safeword. Further, they'd only both arrived in Dallas the night before, hadn't had sex, hadn't seen each other in person since March. Castiel wanted so much he trembled if he dwelt on it.

 _I have to be perfect._

 _No I don't._

 _What if I do something he doesn't like?_

 _That would be okay. Dean won't hurt me._

 _How can I be sure?_

 _Because I trust him._

Blinking slowly, deliberately, Castiel took a deep breath, let it go, and slumped comfortably against Dean's legs.

"Good," Dean repeated, petting Castiel's head. "Get comfortable, Cas. Take as long as you need. Lunch'll wait."

Nerves flared for an instant – _but Dean said he was hungry! I need to relax faster, I'm being a bother_ – only to die under Dean's relentless acceptance and gentleness. Castiel had never done a scene where everything was laid out with Castiel's contentment in mind. Part of him rebelled against it: he wanted to be used, abused, torn to shreds and then put back together again stronger and better than he'd been before.

Ultimately, that's what would happen, but it wasn't where they were starting.

Everything smelled like Dean. After they'd met in March, they'd exchanged a few favorite clothing items as a reminder of the other – Dean kept his favorite of Castiel's ties, Castiel had a pair of Dean's jeans – but the comforting aroma, leather and musk and aftershave, had faded with time. Now, Castiel wore Dean's pajamas, dug his nose into Dean's thigh, and the smell was overwhelming, dizzying. Castiel adored how it enveloped him. Combined with the hum of Dean's gruff voice buzzing down Castiel's spine, the caress of Dean's calloused fingers along his face and neck, the solid weight of Dean's body supporting Castiel's, Castiel felt his nerves draining away. His eyes slipped shut and he wrapped an arm around Dean's knees to steady himself lest he slump to the floor.

There was no way in which Dean wasn't supporting him, and it was wonderful.

"Color?" Dean asked.

"Green," hummed Castiel happily.

"You hungry?"

"Yes, sir," Castiel agreed.

There was a scraping sound, noises that Castiel identified as Dean pulling his plate closer to himself and taking a bite of the sandwich. A moment later, something brushed Castiel's face and he grimaced and pressed closer to Dean's heat. Dean laughed. "Gotta hold your head up and open your mouth if you wanna eat, Cas."

"Oh, fine."

"Don't get petulant with me," warned Dean.

"Sorry, sir," Castiel mumbled, and he dutifully lifted his head. Instead of the expected sandwich, Dean was holding a pill and a cup of water. Castiel flushed but opened his mouth wide; Dean popped the pill onto his tongue, poured a little water in, and waited expectantly until Castiel closed his mouth and swallowed. Only then did Dean offer him a bite of the sandwich. Part of Castiel was ashamed – _Dean knows I failed, he knows I resorted to meds, he knows I'm not strong enough, not in control enough_ – but after months of trying to overcome anxiety with only talk therapy, Castiel _had_ failed. A stress-induced meltdown in February had nearly destroyed what they'd both worked so hard. Only Dean's rock-solid stubbornness had preserved their relationship. In the wake of that, Castiel had called Dr. Ellicott and said he was ready to try medication.

It helped. It wasn't perfect, it didn't fix him or prevent his errant thoughts or wipe the memory of Naomi from his mind and body, but it helped.

Castiel had Dean to help erase Naomi's influence from his thoughts and flesh. Dean was enough. Dean was perfect. Flawed and hurt and determined and aggressive and domineering and trying _so damn hard_ and absolutely perfect.

Dean took another bite of sandwich then offered it once more to Castiel.

 _This is so weird, he shouldn't be…but this is what he wants from me, he's my dom, and…_

So the meal passed, Dean making small talk, Castiel replying, trading bites of sandwich and crunching into chips. When that was done, Dean delightedly fed Castiel a handful of berries and kissed the sweet juice out of Castiel's mouth until they were both drunk on it. The ease of contentment gave way to a buzz of arousal, Castiel's cock thickening and twitching against the soft fabric of his borrowed flannel pajama bottoms.

"How is this workin' for you so far?" Dean asked when the meal was done and Dean had dabbed Castiel's mouth and chin clean with a napkin.

It was a wrench to have the scene interrupted, but this was another thing they'd discussed and agreed to ahead of time. They'd rebuilt their trust in each other over the past months, despite the gnawing desire for _more_ intensity than could possibly come from long distance mutual masturbation. However, they both knew how deep Castiel sank into subspace, how readily he agreed to things he might not want when he was performing for a dom, and to mitigate that they'd decided to do a mild scene, decided that Dean would deliberately break them both out of their roles from time to time.

"It's…it's a little weird," admitted Castiel. Dean tensed against him. "Not bad weird!" he added hastily. "This isn't what I'm a sub for." They'd been over this while planning the scene but the dissonance was worse than he'd expected. Some tense part of him waited on tenterhooks for the other shoe to drop. Kindness was _always_ a mask for an agenda, always cloaked the coming blow.

 _No. Not always. Not with Dean. Dean isn't Naomi, God, he's so different from her in every way that it's incredible._

"Not always," agreed Dean with his usual knack for echoing Castiel's thoughts. It took Castiel a moment to remember what Dean was talking about. _Right. He's agreeing that my purpose as a sub isn't to be pampered and cared for._ "Maybe not even usually. However, you've agreed to be my sub, Thursday, agreed that your purpose is to serve, not to question. And today? This is how I want to use you."

 _Don't think about why we're in Dallas again. Don't think about tomorrow. Don't think – don't think – don't –_

"I understand, sir," said Castiel.

 _Obey. Behave. Conform. What I want is irrelevant. I'm here to serve Dean._

 _And for some reason, this is how he wants me to serve him._

 _I don't understand. I don't understand at all. But I can be good for Dean – must be good for Dean._

"I know you do," Dean replied kindly. "You're a good boy, Castiel." Castiel shuddered, not sure if he liked those words on Dean's lips or not. Being called _good_ , being called _boy_ , and most of all being called _Castiel_ instead of just plain 'Cas' was a jolt that stirred unwanted memories of the past, a jolt that twisted his stomach, a jolt that he _craved_. He'd once loved hearing those words, and he wanted to love them again.

That was what today was about, what it was _really_ about. Naomi – he shuddered again to think the name – had taken so much from him, so much that he _deserved_ and he wanted back. Alastair had taken nearly as much from Dean.

Together, they could reclaim what was theirs. Together, they could remove the taint that their past partners had attached to the kink they enjoyed. Castiel was allowed to serve without being abused. Dean was allowed his sadistic tendencies when granted permission. There was nothing inherently wrong with either of them. Explicit consent had been sought and granted for every act.

Together, Castiel hoped, they could repair the damage each had sustained when they'd suffered alone. Together, they could be made whole.

"I've gotta get some work done," Dean continued. His only acknowledgement of Castiel's twitching and increased tension was a steady hand wrapped protectively around the back of Castiel's neck. "Lean back on the cushion – I gotta grab my laptop – and when I get back, we'll reposition you, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

The brief minutes of Dean's absence seemed to last a long time. Settling on his heels, Castiel watched Dean move about the room and attempted to keep his expression impassive as his thoughts raced.

 _Why didn't he tell me to get the computer? He should be using me._

 _No. I exist for his pleasure, to satisfy his whims, and if this is his whim then this is how I must behave._

 _Wait. That's not why I_ exist _that is simply my role while we are doing a scene together._

 _I wish he'd be harsher. I wish he'd use me, demean me, and—_

 _That is_ not _what I want. I want us to be in a mutual satisfying consensual relationship. I do not want him to behave in a fashion that ultimately causes me to equate him with Naomi. Just because that was how_ she _was a dom doesn't mean that's the only way, and while sometimes it felt good, there were many times that her treatment of me left me feeling wretched._

"Cas?" Dean's voice harshly cut through Castiel's thoughts. Blinking, he realized Dean had returned, looming over him with a disgruntled expression.

 _No. That's not how he looks. He looks puzzled and concerned. Rightfully so._

"Sorry, sir," Castiel managed a reassuring half-smile. "Green." Dean's tight brow eased and he set the large laptop on the table where the lunch things had formerly been – Castiel hadn't noticed Dean clearing those away – and took his seat.

"Get between my legs," Dean commanded.

Shifting onto the carpet, Castiel picked up the cushion and moved it to between Dean's legs as Dean pulled his chair up to the table and spread his knees wide. Castiel scrambled to get under the table; he bumped his head on the wood with a _thunk_ as he positioned himself. As he'd moved, Dean had undone the fly on his pants and taken his limp cock in hand. Wordlessly, Dean reached out with his other hand, pressed a finger to Castiel's lips. When Castiel opened his mouth to suck and lick at the finger, assuming that was what Dean expected of him, Dean murmured wordless praise, looped a finger up against Castiel's soft palette and gently tugged Castiel's head forward until his chin brushed denim, zipper teeth pressed at his cheeks and the soft flesh of Dean's cock painted musk against his mouth.

"Open wide, Cas," Dean said encouragingly. As soon as Castiel obeyed, Dean slipped his cock within. "Good boy." Castiel shuddered, tongue pressing along the bottom of Dean's length, and within moments Dean began to swell. Encouraged, Castiel licked more enthusiastically, sucked gently at the hardening tip. "Stop that," Dean scolded, lightly slapping him on the side of the head. Confused but obedient, Castiel stilled. "I told you I have work to do. I'm taking my hands away now. If you need anything, tap the side of my leg. Understand?" Tentatively, Castiel tapped once to show that he did. "Perfect," Dean said warmly. A soft noise, almost a purr, bubbled in Castiel's chest. "Being so good for me."

Shifting to ease the strain on his back, Castiel took Dean in his mouth up to the root. Despite the initial thickening of Dean's erection, within minutes Dean was soft again. The _tak-tak-tak_ of typing and click of the buttons on the mouse were the only sounds in the room as Dean worked. Castiel's mouth flooded with saliva that he had to resist swallowing. Obviously, Dean didn't wish further arousal just now, so Castiel forced his tongue to stillness, forced his muscles to relax, allowed the spit to dribble down his throat or leak from the corners of his mouth. The bite of the zipper against his skin helped ground him. Gradually, impatience to get on with the blow job faded into acceptance, and finally into ease and comfort, encouraged by the occasional sounds of contentment Dean made, the periodic shifts in Dean's posture that shifted his limp cock in Castiel's mouth.

 _This is nice. I can keep him comfortable, keep him warm, keep him safe._

 _This cock is_ mine _. Only I am entrusted with this task._

 _I'm helping him work. Somehow._

 _It doesn't matter how. He said I should do this. That's enough._

The most wonderful part was that it _was_ enough.

A loud moan interrupted Castiel's drifting thoughts. His eyes popped open; he hadn't realized how lulled towards sleep he'd become until the sudden noise yanked him back to awareness. Another groan followed, the tinny reproduction of a familiar voice saying, "yeah, fuck yeah, just like that." Dean's voice, coming from the speakers of the computer, panted loudly. The cock in Castiel's mouth thickened, lengthened.

 _He's…watching porn? He made a video? Who is he with? Why would he tease me like this?_

"Fuck that's hot," video Dean continued, "Fuck me – fuck me just like that, shit…"

"Dean," moaned Dean's partner. Whoever it was had a low voice that sounded scraped raw – guttural and breathy, almost a croak, and—

"Harder, Cas."

Confused, Castiel tried to figure out what Dean expected of him – the cock in his mouth was rapidly approaching the hardness of full erection, Castiel's own cock was twitching despite his jealousy of the mystery man in the video – and then he realized that it was Dean's voice in the video, not in reality, encouraging him. The scene suddenly formed in his mind vividly as he recollected the day when Dean must have recorded them together.

… _fleshlight vibrating around Castiel's cock…Dean driving the dildo into his body in tempo with Castiel's hips jerking thrust after thrust into the tight channel of the toy…God, he was close, he was so close…_

A moan escaped Castiel, echoing a matching moan from the recording. He'd not known that Dean had made a video. The cock in his mouth twitched, leaked a bead of salty pre-come onto his tongue, and Castiel couldn't stop himself from swallowing. No reprimand came. Dean remained silent; the only evidence that he was affected by the increasingly lascivious noises emanating from the speakers were his swelling erection and a hand that came to rest on Castiel's cheek. Fingers dug into the flesh – dug into Dean's cock through Castiel's skin – and Dean leaked more, forcing Castiel to swallow again. Dean's thumb pressed in hard and rubbed as Castiel strained to behave himself. Tears beaded in his eyes; Dean had grown so large in his mouth that it was a struggle to breathe, a struggle not to suck and lick and caress. The other fingers of Dean's hand shifted until pinky and ring finger rested on his neck and gently swiped downward against Castiel's throat. Hoping like hell that was permission to swallow, Castiel tentatively did so again, again, as the video played and Dean stimulated himself through the scant barrier of skin and flesh over Castiel's cheeks. Arousal and the satisfaction of being able to see to Dean flared hot through Castiel's body, overlaid with memories of the events unfolding in the video.

… _Dean's rough voice growing increasingly incoherent as he lost control of himself…_

… _the fleshlight's vibrator function kicking on to high…_

"Don't move, Cas, just watch," Dean ordered. Hot and needy and desperate, Castiel had shaken with desire as the fleshlight stimulated him and Dean had fucked himself slow and deliberate on Castiel's surrogate cock.

Remembering drove Castiel to distraction. He longed to touch himself, longed for Dean to touch him, but no permission had been given and there was no way for Castiel to speak, so instead he sucked and licked at Dean more eagerly as his own cock rested neglected against his leg, a growing wet spot forming on his pants.

The video reached its loud climax. Castiel thought he _should_ be ashamed of the noises he'd made. His moans and pants and half-formed pleading hadn't seemed ridiculous while he'd been lost in the moment the previous month but hearing them now? But what little embarrassment he felt was overwhelmed by desire and satisfaction. How arousing Dean found the video was obvious; as the sound from the speakers cut out, vocal panting became audible. A strong grip took hold of the back of Castiel's head, the fingers of Dean's other hand dug in at five points from the base of his neck to the top of his skull. Leaning back in his chair, Dean rolled his hips, indifferent to the choked noise Castiel made as Dean's length blocked his throat.

Again and again, Dean rolled his hips as he slouched further and further into his seat. Swallowing, spit oozing out around Dean's fat cock, Castiel did his best to remain relaxed and open. Dean's hand held Castiel's head firmly in place and increasingly pleased sounds leaked from Dean. Arousal buzzed hot beneath Castiel's skin, his own erection bound against his leg by the pajama pants.

 _Touch me, please, please, I need you to…_

But Dean made no move to do so beyond his hold on Castiel's head and cheek, so Castiel kept his weight back on his heels so heavily that his ankles began to tingle, kept his hands still at his sides, kept his throat as open as he could to accept Dean's hard thrusts.

"Man, I hope you're good today," Dean breathed. "You're doin' great so far, Cas. Don't touch yourself. Don't come. Just let me—" A hard thrust that had Castiel seeing stars edged in black due to oxygen deprivation was accompanied by a bursting groan from Dean. "—yeah, just like that, perfect, fuckin' perfect. Behave yourself and you'll get to fuck me tonight." Dean's movements grew increasingly erratic, his voice more breathy and broken. Heart racing, dizzy, Castiel limply allowed Dean to thrust into his face. "Good…good…aw, _fuck_!"

A hard thrust buried Dean as deep as he could go, a jerk cut Castiel's skin on the zipper teeth, and thick come flooded his mouth. Choking and spluttering, Castiel tried to swallow, tried to swallow, as secondary and tertiary spurts burst free. Only then did Dean release him and drag the chair back, freeing Castiel. Spit and come made a damp semi-circular stain down the front of his shirt, his chin was gummy with it, and he breathed hard, vision blurring in and out. Castiel's skin itched, the gentle cloth of his clothing a tantalizing touch that drove him wild.

 _Touch me, stroke me, let me come, please sir, please…_

All that won free of his pleading thoughts was a whimper.

"Pick your head up for me, will ya?" Dean said. Lifting his gaze, Castiel met Dean's eyes, bright with reflected light from the computer monitor. Dean reached out and used a napkin to wipe the mess off Castiel's chin and neck. "Do you want to change your shirt?" The wet spot was rapidly growing clammy in the cooled air, sticking to Castiel's chest uncomfortably.

"Yes, sir," said Castiel, voice raw. Dean slipped from the chair onto his knees, grabbed the bottom edge of the shirt and tugged it up. Obediently, Castiel lifted his arms and slammed them into the table above his head. With a whimper of pain, they fell limply to his sides again.

"Awww," said Dean with a shake of his head and a chuckle. "Okay, come on, let's get you out from under this table." Dean shimmied backwards and drew Castiel with him; he moved lethargically, thoughts still adrift. This time, when he raised his arms he had no trouble and Dean pulled the shirt up and over Castiel's head. "Lemme get you a new shirt, I'll—" Castiel reached out and grabbed Dean's wrist. Dean froze. "What is it, Cas? You okay?"

 _What are you doing? Stop! This isn't okay, this isn't…_

… _he didn't tell me not to talk. He didn't tell me not to ask for things. In fact, while we were preparing for this scene he told me the opposite._

 _I don't cease to be Castiel because I am Dean's sub. I don't cease to have autonomy and needs. I don't cease to have rights. I am allowed to ask for what I want, what I need_.

Dean's concern deepened, his brow furrowing and lips turning down as Castiel wrestled with his inner demons and the silence stretched out. Finally, Castiel found the words to say, "would you hold me? Please, sir?"

Dean broke into a pleased, indulgent smile. "Of course, Cas." Crawling over on his knees, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, guided them together, urged Castiel with a touch to lay his head on Dean's shoulder. The tension of denied arousal flared for a moment and then ebbed away. They breathed together, shoulders rising and falling as one. Dean's hands were hot against his skin, Dean's strength a perfect support.

"Thank you, sir," he whispered.

"So glad you asked," said Dean encouragingly. "That was fricken fantastic, Cas. Should I get you a shirt now?"

"No – no, this is good."

"Awesome."

The day progressed, the strangest scene Castiel had ever been involved in. They'd spoken about many of the details, yet the actual passage of the hours amplified how different it was than anything Castiel had done previously. More than anything, the experience was evocative of his day-to-day life with Naomi. Despite the many moments when being with her was horrible, on a daily basis things were ordinary, sometimes painfully so. Castiel was always hers to use and abuse – at any given moment a blow might fall, someone might arrive to fuck him while she watched, she might spring a punishment on him or demand to know how he'd erred or strap him to a table or, or, or – but despite that constant tense anticipation, many days were like this one: eating together, settling on the couch to watch TV together, Castiel kept in a subservient position and available to Naomi's whim.

Hands wrapped around Castiel's shoulders as day began to fade into evening. "You've gotten really tense," said Dean softly, massaging him. Surprised, Castiel rolled his back and realized Dean was right. He hadn't even noticed.

 _Dean isn't Naomi. Dean won't suddenly start doing something I don't like. Dean doesn't count on the unpredictability of his behavior to keep me permanently off balance, always wondering when the next punishment would begin or the next praise would come. I never could be sure how Naomi would react to anything that happened, never knew when she'd create some rule and arbitrarily decide that I'd violated it. Dean isn't like that._

 _Thank God Dean isn't like that._

The difference between being with Dean and being with Naomi was the fear. Every minute with Naomi when nothing bad happened wound him tighter and tighter. Every minute with Dean when nothing bad happened relaxed him and reminded him wonderfully that _Dean was not and never would become_ _Naomi._

"I'm okay…sorry," Castiel shook his head, shook away the thought. "I _am_ okay, I was thinking – comparing. This…this is good."

"Glad to hear it." Dean's thumbs pressed into Castiel's shoulder blades, his breath trailed hot over Castiel's skin as Dean brushed kisses along the curve of his neck. "You're doin' fuckin' fantastic, Cas. You know that, right? I was worried about today but not only is this going better than I feared, it's going better than I dreamed." Dean's hands drifted down his back, palms rubbing circles along each side of his spine. "We don't have to do more, if it's starting to wear on you."

"Green light, Dean – sir," said Castiel firmly. Everything they'd done so far had been good, but if they didn't finish… "Please."

…if they didn't finish, it would feel like they'd scened for nothing.

"Come on, let's continue this massage on the bed," Dean said as if he hadn't asked the question, hadn't the least doubt about proceeding. With a slow exhale, Castiel followed as Dean led the way to the bedroom of the suite. The room wasn't large; the bed was so large it was difficult to navigate around. Cotton sheets with a ludicrously high thread count felt satin-soft under Castiel's bare chest as he lay down. There wasn't a bounce of the mattress, no sign of movement at all as Dean climbed up, laid hands on Castiel's hips and drew his pants down. "Gonna get a few things ready, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

The blankets rustled as Dean scrambled back off the bed. Heart thumping with anticipation, Castiel slipped his eyes shut and focused on the small sounds that Dean's preparations made: a tinkle of metal on metal, the soft sound of fabric, the click of a zipper being lowered, a squirt of something that diffused a pleasant smell into the air, the slosh of liquid in a bottle. The return of Dean's hands to his flesh was a welcome surprise, way smoothed by fragrant oil. Lulled by the smell and the soothing touch, Castiel tried to tamp down his anticipation. It was impossible to forget what was coming, though, just as it was impossible to ignore how Dean couldn't touch Castiel's back without brushing over a scar. In an indefinable way, the skin felt different there: Castiel could tell when Dean massaged over unmarred skin, recognize the subtly change in the pull and tension when Dean's hands passed over the marks left by Naomi's ill-treatment. He didn't hate his scars, but he hated what they represented, hated Naomi's mark left forever on his skin like a brand of ownership. She'd once said she'd do that in truth – create a custom iron, heat it over an open flame, press it sizzling into his skin, do it again if he screamed the first time…

…but she hadn't, thank God she hadn't, it was one of the few threats she'd made that she'd never carried out. She had once used a knife to carve her name along the upper curve of his ass, but that hadn't scarred completely and the letters had disappeared amidst further cuts and injuries.

 _Calm. That's all going to change now. Dean is going to change it. Dean is changing me – helping to change me – as I'm helping him._

Shoving the thoughts away, Castiel focused on Dean's attentions. Hands drifted along his arms, down his legs, along his thighs. As his anticipation grew, arousal stirred as well, until Castiel was panting slightly despite the calming nature of the massage and his hard cock pressed against the bedding.

Abruptly, Dean's hands left his body.

"Are you sure?" Dean breathed. He sounded as tense as Castiel felt.

"Yes, sir."

"Cas, I…once I…I don't want to hurt you...I mean…I mean, I do, but…you know what I mean…"

 _God he's cute when he's all flustered about the prospect of dominating the hell out of me._

"I do. Please, sir – please, Dean," Castiel lifted himself on an elbow, opened his eyes, twisted until he found Dean. The timid frown on Dean's face, the downturn of his lovely eyes, strengthened Castiel. This wasn't just for him. They both needed it. "I'm absolutely positive. This is what I want. But if you are not ready, we do not have to do this now."

 _But I won't lie to him and say it'll be alright if we never do this, because it won't be. I want this. I need this. And it has to be Dean. No one else can do this for me._

"Okay," Dean whooshed out a breath, nodding slowly. "No, it's cool. Let's do this."

"Look at me, Dean." Green eyes, lustrous in the light, met Castiel's. "I want this from you, just like we're doing. I am not a victim. I am not humoring you. I am not letting you because I know you want to. Nothing that we have discussed is being done against my will. Consider this my enthusiastic consent." Dean's eyes widened the longer Castiel spoke, until he thought he could get lost in their depths. Castiel took a deep breath. "Cut me."

"I will, Cas," said Dean fervently. "You have no idea…fuck, I want to so badly it scares me."

"Please don't ever be frightened of me," Castiel replied, giving Dean an earnest, heartfelt smile.

Time stretched out as they stared at each other. Finally, Dean gave one firm nod and the vulnerable expression vanished from his face as if it had never been. In its place, Dean's eyes were veiled, his lips set in a firm line.

"Place this towel under yourself," Dean ordered, passing Castiel a thick towel that Dean had brought from home. "Lie down." The command sent a tingle down Castiel's spine. He obeyed instantly. The day had been nice, had calmed Castiel and kept him from thinking about the days to come, but he craved an assertive dom, yearned for Dean to tear him apart, _literally_ cut him into a new form. The terrycloth of the towel was pleasantly rough against his bare chest and thickening cock, sending a shiver of desire that trailed from Castiel's toes to the tips of his fingers and back again.

There were more indeterminate sounds. Dean's hands came to rest on him again, freshly oiled, the pleasant fragrance powerful tinged with something that made Castiel's nose itch. Iodine, to help prevent infection and to increase the chances that the cuts Dean made would scar. Castiel tried to lose himself in the feel of being rubbed down but he was too excited.

"Relax," Dean demanded, emphasizing the point with a smack to Castiel's ass. "If you get too tense I will not be able to do this safely."

"Yes, sir."

With controlled breaths, Castiel did his best to dissipate his anticipation. Kneading fingers helped until finally, Dean's touch left his skin and Castiel was calm and at ease once more.

Cold and sharp, the blade of a scalpel came to rest on his skin. There was a pause during which Castiel would swear he felt Dean trembling, and then there was a sharp pain and a line of tingling, near to burning, as Dean carved the first line into his flesh. A low moan leaked from Castiel, the last of his nerves burning away. He might have melted into the bedspread, he wasn't sure, every muscle went liquid as Dean made a second cut parallel to and slightly below the first. Pain flared through the initial slice as his skin stretched and tugged, causing the first wound to widen, and blood pooled and flowed over his skin.

"Fuck," Dean whispered in awe. A finger ran through the blood, smearing it over his back in a hot line, and Castiel whimpered, cock leaking against the towel. His fingers clenched and unclenched against the towel, pain and pleasure mingling in his thoughts. He craved more of both, breaths coming short as he anticipated Dean continuing to cut him. There was a pause, then the blade came against his skin again; with two quick flicks, Dean extended and connected the first two lines, bringing them to a point over Castiel's shoulder blade.

Dean worked with the deliberate precision of an expert. Pain sung through Castiel's blood, hummed in his veins, buzzed through his body until he ached spectacularly with it. Every breath was a moan, and as the pain of the previous wounds combined with the intense initial stab of each new cut, Castiel wept with pleasure. He were floating away, disconnecting, but every cut dragged him back down, drowned him in more sensation. The combination was so glorious that it took all of Castiel's willpower not to rut himself insane against the bedspread. Line by line, Dean carved Castiel anew, tore away the old scars to replace it with a fresh design of Castiel's choosing, of Castiel's desire, placed on his body with express permission. One by one, the cuts came together to form the unmistakable pattern of a feather.

"That's one," Dean breathed unsteadily. The hand not holding the scalpel came to rest on Castiel's hip, fingers tensing and relaxing spasmodically. "Fuck, that's…that's a _lot_ of blood…maybe that's enough for one day, Cas."

"Don't stop on my account," Castiel said, his voice harsh and broken. He didn't want Dean to stop – Castiel never wanted this blissful moment to end, never wanted to plummet back down to earth when his new-formed wings folded and gave way under the harsh pressure of gravity. However, if Dean wasn't comfortable continuing, Castiel would never force him.

"You want more?" Dean's voice was a whisper. His hand trailed up Castiel's side and pulled at the incised skin, spreading the wounds. Blood seeped a trail down Castiel's side to be absorbed by the towel. Pain flared brilliant bright a moment later and Castiel moaned.

"Yes! I wish…"

"What do you want, angel?" Dean murmured. Weight shifted on the bed, heat crowded Castiel's back and Dean's lips pressed a tender kiss to his neck as Dean picked at his rent skin with a nail. "What can I do for you, beautiful Castiel?"

"Oh God," Castiel groaned. The last flickers of pain faded. There was only euphoria and bliss and Dean's nail scraping at him like rapture. "Please, Dean—"

Slotting their hips together, Dean rutted against Castiel's ass, driving Castiel's throbbing cock into the mattress. "Anything," Dean vowed. "You're fuckin' unreal, Cas. Anything you want. I'm yours."

"Wish I could be inside you while you cut the next feather," gasped Castiel, mouth tacky with spit and cloth fibers. Dean groaned gutturally, dragging his cock through the narrow space between Castiel's legs. "Wish I could…wish I could feel how much this turns you on. Want you so much right now, Dean…right now…please…" Another groan burst from Dean as he humped Castiel harder.

"This much," Dean panted. "Feel how fuckin' hard I am for you? That's how much I fuckin' want you…want you to drill me tonight, Cas, wanna feel it for days. I've had a plug in since lunch; I'm so ready – so ready for you…" Dean ground his palm against the fresh wound and Castiel cried out in shock and sensation – he couldn't have said _what_ sensation, only that the feeling stabbed through him, bone deep. "You sure…you sure you want to wait? Sure you want another before I fuck your brains out?"

"Both, I want both, I need…" Whimpers Castiel couldn't hold back leaked free as Dean ground to a halt, breathing so hard that every inhale pressed Dean's chest to Castiel's back. "One more feather, Dean. Please?"

"Anything for you, Cas," Dean huffed into his ear. "Fuck, do I mean that, seriously, I will do _anything_ for you. There's no one…there's _no one_ like you, you fuckin' know that, right? I…I need you so fucking much, you have no fucking idea."

The emotions Dean was trying to communicate were too much, too heavy, falling on Castiel like bricks as he tried to float away on the rippling waves of indivisible pleasure and pain that coursed through his body. But he _needed_ , he knew that Dean wasn't alone in that, and so he struggled to find more words, struggled to express himself to Dean. The only thing he managed to say, though, was " _Please_ , sir."

For a long moment, Dean lay over him, smothering him with power and strength though their bodies were roughly the same size, and then Dean moved, shifted away. Castiel repressed a sob at the sudden absence; Dean's enfolding presence was more essential than he realized – Castiel needed to bury himself in Dean, needed to be supported, needed the implicit reassurance that what Castiel wanted was right and good and proper and that Dean wanted it too. The sob burst free when the knife came to his skin again, Dean confidently and smoothly incising a feather on the right side of Castiel's back, a perfect mirror to the first one he'd drawn. Whereas each line of the original feather had been drawn out slowly and deliberately and Castiel had felt every individual cut, he hardly registered that Dean was at work again until Dean was done. Tears streaked Castiel's face and he wasn't sure if his eyes were opened or closed. His body felt afire. Movement was beyond him, words were beyond him, self-control was beyond him; Castiel was an incandescent force of pure _need_ , and that need was Dean.

Hands seized Castiel's cheeks and he gasped in shock as even that mild touch seared him. His eyes flew open and showed him a vision of tanned skin and freckles and green nearly swamped by lust-blown black, Dean's faces inches from his. A smear of blood made a darkening crimson streak across Dean's cheek, tiny droplets beaded in his stubble. Dean's lips moved but at first Castiel heard nothing but the rush of non-existent wind in his ears, and when he could resolve the words, Dean's voice sounded impossibly far away, as tinny and hollow as the echo through the computer speakers earlier.

"…with you, I'm right here, I'm not gonna do anything else until you're back with me, okay, Cas? Can you hear me?"

"Green," said Castiel dreamily. _His eyes are so green…_ Reaching out, Castiel flicked a finger through the blood on Dean's check, smearing it further, flaking away dry bits. Dean's expression shifted from worry to wonder to awe.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Cas, I need you to fuck my brains out, like, ten minutes ago," Dean breathed. Castiel giggled, a dangerous, throaty sound, and Dean's jaw dropped. "Right now – right the fuck now." Suiting actions to words, Dean rolled onto his back and tugged Castiel after him. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't comprehend what Dean was talking about. His body caught on before his thoughts did. His cocked ached and spit and flared pain – or was that bliss? – through his body; his hips jerked to drag him over the bedding. Nails dug into his back.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Dean hissed. "I've been waiting fuckin' months to feel you inside me, we're fuckin' tested now, you are getting' that cock in me and you are filling my ass with come or there will be hell to pay, you understand me, boy?"

"Yes," gasped Castiel. "Yes, I…yes, sir!" With the threat of repercussions to ground him, Castiel forced limp limbs to move, to support him, and he dragged himself atop Dean. Castiel's arms trembled with the difficulty of holding himself up, and with every breath and blink he lost moments, seconds or minutes that vanished as if they'd never been. Dean lay beneath him – Dean's hands were on his back – Dean's knees were hooked over Castiel's elbows – Dean's eyes were closed, his head arching back – Dean's fingers were on Castiel's cock – Castiel was pressing into Dean's hole – Castiel was fully embedded, delirious on the feeling of Dean surrounding him, words bursting from him uncontrolled – "Oh my G…oh _Dean_ , you make me feel so good, so good, please sir, tell me – tell me – what should I—"

" _Fuck me_ , Cas," Dean commanded in his most powerful voice.

Without conscious thought, Castiel's hips jerked back and pounded forward. There was no finesse, no hesitation, there was only _Dean, Dean, Dean_ and need so blinding that Castiel was aware of only his own acute pleasure and Dean panting and praising him. Something was said to him, or maybe that was his own voice speaking, but there was no sense behind any of it. Every thrust felt incredible, intense, as if Dean touched every place on Castiel's body simultaneously. He was sick on the feeling, desperate for more, gasping and frantic, forehead dripping sweat, skin slapping skin, his existence reduced to a jumble of disconnected moments and feelings and an agony of bliss beyond anything Castiel had ever imagined as he pounded Dean into the mattress again and again.

Pressure landed on his shoulder blades. Agonizing pain arced through him, tensed his spine, and Castiel screamed through his climax, pumping his hips, twitching in sheer rapture. There was nothing left of the world beyond more feeling than he could comprehend and the solid, grounding presence of Dean beneath him, Dean's arms wrapped around him, Dean's palms kneading at his torn skin.

"Holy shit," whispered Dean. Beneath Castiel, Dean shook, and Castiel's world rocked and bucked nauseatingly.

 _Oh no, I screwed up, I didn't pay any attention to him at all. Did he give me orders? Did he want me to do something else? Did he even come? I don't know – I don't know – I don't—_

"Sir?" Castiel tried to ask, but his voice came out incomprehensible, raspy and shattered. Fear tunneled his vision.

 _I'm in trouble, I'm in trouble, I'm—_

The hands pressed against Castiel's new wounds slid down his back, way smoothed by blood and sweat, and Dean's arms wrapped around him powerfully, crushing their bodies together. Startled out of his anxiety, Castiel gasped, softening cock twitching free of Dean's ass, flickers of pain and pleasure scattering over his body like pinpricks.

"Incredible," Dean breathed. "That's – that's the end of the scene, Cas. That was fucking _unbelievable_. _You're_ unbelievable, and you fucked me, and…and so _I_ fucked unbelievable, and…ha…ha…shit…"

 _Wait, wait, he's not upset._

 _He's_ laughing _._

 _He's_ happy.

 _I didn't do anything wrong._

"I love you, sir," Castiel whispered, relief and afterglow leaving him languid and exhausted.

Dean froze, arms going stiff, and then he hugged Castiel even more closely, pressed their bodies together as he laughed and laughed, gasping words of praise between each gale.

"You're perfect…you're wonderful…you're amazing…never done _anything_ to deserve someone like you…thank you, Cas, thank you…"

* * *

"How does it feel to be back in Dallas, Mr. Novak?"

" _Here, lemme check on the bandages and put some more disinfectant on the cuts."_

"No comment."

" _Don't think."_

"Mr. Novak, have you been following the trial?"

" _Don't worry."_

"No comment."

" _Don't stress."_

"Are you concerned that your innate submissiveness will cause you problems on the stand?"

" _Don't dwell."_

"No comment."

" _I've got you."_

"The jury has already heard the testimony of two other of Ms. Tapping's previous partners; what is your opinion of what they revealed?"

" _You've got this."_

"No comment."

" _They can't hurt you anymore."_

"The defense will be calling Ms. Tapping's current boyfriend to the stand."

" _They'll never hurt you again."_

"Mr. Miller is expected to debunk the prosecution's assertion that Ms. Tapping violated consent with her submissives."

" _Alastair knows what he's doing."_

"Isn't it true that you and all her other partners signed a contract consenting to submit to her as your dominatrix?"

" _He'll make sure the jury knows enough about BDSM to understand the lines that Tapping and Adler crossed."_

"Did you sign such a contract, Mr. Novak?"

" _Do you want to wear a tortoise shell tie to the trial?"_

"Doesn't that invalidate your claim of self-defense?"

" _Can't wait to tie you up for a scene, Cas, you look so beautiful with rope draped against your skin."_

"No comment, no comment!"

" _Is this too tight?"_

"Mr. Novak—"

" _It's perfect, Dean."_

"—scandalous photographs in evidence—"

" _You okay, Cas?"_

"—Dean Winchester testify?"

" _No, Dean. I'm not okay."_

"—true that you are his submissive now?"

" _I'm sorry I can't come to the trial today, but I'll see you tonight, okay, Cas?"_

"Did your dom order you to testify today?"

" _I'll be right here, you just text me when you need me."_

"If he ordered you to lie under oath you'd have to obey, wouldn't you?"

" _I…uh…I mean…I'll…I'll take care of you Cas, alright? No matter what happens, I will never let you go."_

"I said _no comment!_ "

Holding Dean's words close to his heart, rolling his shoulders to feel the tie that Dean had tenderly constructed beneath Castiel's suit, Castiel won free from the throng of media standing on the court house steps. It was swelteringly hot outside; as soon as Castiel stepped into the glass-enclosed lobby, it was so cold his skin goose-bumped, but neither the excessive heat or the frigid chill of air conditioning had an impact on his sweaty palms, dry mouth or racing heartbeat.

Soon, Castiel would sit before a judge, a packed courthouse, a jury, the press, the world, Naomi, Zachariah and Alastair and tell them all that despite his consent, the two doms' behavior constituted assault, imprisonment and rape. He had to convince a jury that he hadn't agreed to what was done to him. He had to speak openly about things he'd never admitted to anyone except Dean and Dr. Ellicott. He had to confess how disgusting he was to the world.

 _I consented. I agreed to be Naomi's sub. Who, really, bears the blame for everything that followed?_

 _How am I supposed to convince a jury that the blame doesn't fall on me when I'm not certain of that myself?_

* * *

Endnote:

Reminder: everything I know about legal proceedings I learned from TV. Which is to say I'm making this shit up. Sorry I can't be bothered to do actual research, but, well, if I spend hours learning how this actually works that's hours I'm not spending writing. With how limited my time is, well, I hope y'all will forgive me for nonsensical legal stuff considering that the alternative is stuff coming out much slower...

I expect Chapter 2 to post on Wednesday or Thursday of next week.


	2. Chapter 2

_And this was supposed to be the easy part!_

He'd been on the stand for hours, had already outlined his personal history and his relationship with Naomi and Adler. In graphic detail, he'd discussed how it begun, how it ended, and highlighted some of the things that had happened during those endless five years. His skin was clammy in the over-chilled air, his heart beat erratic, and only a white-knuckled grip on the wood barrier before him prevented Castiel's hands from shaking.

"Yes, I remember the incident pictured."

Castiel, Alastair, and the Dallas District Attorney, a strange fellow named Fitzgerald, had gone over Castiel's testimony repeatedly over the past few months, yet nothing prepared him for sitting in a court room staring a projection of himself naked, starved, burned and bloody. Among the items found when Naomi's home was searched by police were album after album of photographs of her subs post-scene. She had more of Castiel than any other sub. Seeing them, working with the two lawyers to choose which to share with the jury, had been awful. Sitting before a room full of people gawking at him felt worse still.

"Will you please describe what happened that led to the taking of this photograph?"

 _No, no I won't, I don't want to._

Eyes flicking to Naomi, Castiel caught a faint upturn of her lips, the subtle self-satisfaction that only one who knew Naomi intimately would recognize hiding behind her cold eyes and impassive expression.

 _She's_ gloating _. She knows exactly what she did to me. She knows precisely how difficult it's going to be to convince a jury that I didn't_ want _the things she did to me. She's even got her current sub to come here and tell them it's all a mistake, a misunderstanding, that's she's a perfect angel._

 _I have to stop her._

"During the summer of 2000, I suggested to Naomi that I would like to return home to visit my parents for a few weeks since I hadn't visited them for over a year," Castiel said. He kept his voice clinical, detached, his expression neutral. He was in control of himself. He could say what needed to be said. Flickers of panic tried to eat away at his calm, images of the past returning to him so powerfully that he could feel the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, the dizziness of dehydration, the agony of his torn rim and channel. "Not only did Naomi deny me permission to visit them, she deemed the mere request an inappropriate imposition. Though I conceded to her wishes and indicated that I would remain in Urbana-Champaign as she had asked, she was still displeased and thus she enacted the punishment you see. At the time that picture was taken, I had spent two weeks locked in her basement. She denied me food and gave me minimal amounts of water. She told me that I could earn forgiveness if I entertained her friend. I agreed to do so, at which point Mr. Adler had anal intercourse with me."

"So, you consented to have sex?" said Mr. Fitzgerald in his relaxed, slow way of speaking. With his open smile and bright tone of voice, he seemed like the last person to prosecute violent offenses, the last person who could sanguinely stand before a room of people and discuss rape and murder like most people talked about the weather. Castiel wondered if that upbeat attitude was the secret to Mr. Fitzgerald's success. Wondering about that was far more pleasant than thinking about Naomi and Zachariah.

"I did," Castiel said. There was no point hedging. Fitzgerald and Alastair agreed that in order to convince the jury, the 12 people who theoretically were a panel of Castiel's peers needed to understand the extent of the duress that Castiel had been placed under. Every person in the jury needed to recognize that while Castiel had agreed to serve Naomi that wasn't the same as allowing her to cut him off from his family, isolate him, torture him, rape him, or starve him into compliance when he dared to protest her treatment of him. "Earlier that same year, she'd locked me in her basement for a month. I was afraid she'd do so again. I was starving, my muscles atrophying, and I was beginning to suffer from hallucinations. Naomi knew that I did not enjoy being penetrated by other men and frequently used that to punish me. I did not want to have sex with Adler but granting my permission ensured that I would be fed, I would be allowed to walk around, I could see sunlight again." Shuddering, Castiel turned to face the jury, taking a moment to make eye contact with each. Alastair said that Castiel's testimony would go over better if he could make a personal connection with the jurors. Looking at them now, Castiel wanted to hide from the aggression and distaste and disgust he saw painted over their faces. Some wouldn't even meet his eyes.

 _They think I'm repulsive. They think I deserved what Naomi did to me. They think that I wanted to be treated that way, that I enjoyed it…didn't I deserve it? Didn't I want it? Didn't I enjoy it?_

Another shudder rubbed the ropes twined about his midsection over his nipples, jolted him with a burst of unexpected, unwelcome pleasure. _They don't know I'm wearing bondage gear right in front of them, they don't know I'm so twisted I need this._ He shifted in his chair uncomfortably, the rope rubbing at his ass, and reminded him of all the reassurance and support that Dean had lent him. Dean believed in him. Dean would take care of him – was taking care of him. The ropes didn't bind his torso to punish him, they were a reward, an embrace, a way for Dean to be there with him though Dean couldn't actually be in the court room.

 _No, no I didn't enjoy being with Naomi, and they don't all think so negatively of me. The old woman in the back row looks sympathetic. The 20-something sitting on the end is glaring at Naomi and Adler, not me. The woman in the red hat is blushing and keeps look at the naked picture, then back at me. They're embarrassed, they're disgusted, they're angry, but not necessarily with me. I didn't do anything wrong._

 _Yes I did. I did so many things wrong._

 _But that_ still _doesn't mean that I deserved to be treated that way._

"Mr. Novak?"

"I'm sorry, can you repeat the question?" Castiel tore his eyes from the jury, sought Fitzgerald where he'd been standing before beside the projection screen. The courtroom was surprisingly small and cluttered, the area before the judge's bench a mess of tables for the prosecution and defense, a stand of flags, the bailiff, a stenographer, a TV on a rolling stand, a projector, and more. Fitzgerald stood before him as he had throughout the questioning, giving Castiel something near on which to focus so that his gaze wouldn't take in the huge number of observers packed into the seats. Though hundreds of eyes were on him, Castiel had concentrated on Fitzgerald, Alastair, Naomi, and the jury. He'd hardly noticed the existence of others in the court room. Ignoring them was essential to his sanity. If he had to consider what all of them thought of him…

"Would you please read aloud the contract that you signed when you agreed to submit to Naomi Tapping as your dominatrix?" Fitzgerald repeated, tapping a finger against a pile of papers he'd placed before Castiel while Castiel had been looking at Naomi. "As a reminder, these documents have been submitted for the court to review as Exhibit F."

Taking a deep breath, Castiel took up the papers. He'd read them repeatedly over the past few months and recalled how he'd felt when he'd first signed them, how hopeful he'd been, how bright the future had looked – _Professor Tapping is beautiful, she cares about me, she's devastatingly intelligent, and she wants me, she_ wants _me, she wants_ me _, and she's going to help me, provided I adhere to her training regimen. I can do this. I can do this for me. I can do this for her. I'm going to become so much better than I ever was_. " 'Let it be written that Naomi Tapping, hereafter referred to as the dominant partner, agrees to take on Castiel Shurley, hereafter referred to as the submissive partner, for training to better enable him to be a successful, satisfied adult.' "

 _She broke me and broke me and broke me._

 _Yet, I think I_ am _a more successful adult, for all that. And now I'm even more satisfied._

 _After a fashion, she satisfied the terms of the contract._

With a shudder, Castiel continued, "' The dominant partner agrees to: 1. Outline specific rules for the submissive partner to obey. 2. Enforce these rules in all aspects of daily life. 3. Implement appropriate punishments when the submissive partner violates these rules.' " _And that was it. That was all I agreed to. The problem was, the rules were in her head and the goal point always changed, usually without warning_. " 'The submissive partner agrees to: 1. Obey the dominant partner at all times. 2. Submit to the will of the dominant partner in any and all regards. 3. Do their best to anticipate and conform to the dominant partner's wishes in all respects.' " Reading it aloud, Castiel shuddered. He _had_ agreed, but what flimsy language! He'd been so grateful that she wanted to help that he hadn't cared that his end of the agreement amounted to three reiterations of 'I will do whatever Naomi asks me to without question.' " 'The undersigned have reviewed this contract and are in agreement on its terms and stipulations.' " There was just enough legalese that, at 19 years old, Castiel had been easily duped. " 'Signed, Castiel Shurley and Naomi Tapping, November 5th, 1997.' " Ashamed that he had agreed to be used, ashamed that he had signed himself over completely, Castiel stared at his hands. The air in the court room was so cold that the veins of his hands were visible as purple lines against the pale skin. A pair of old scars made puckered circles on the back of his palms, white against the purple, where Naomi had driven thick nails through his hands. Grimacing, he kept his eyes lowered.

He'd been a fool to sign that contract, a fool to agree to be hers, and now it would probably be why she walked away from this court room a free woman.

"Mr. Novak, how old were you when you signed this contract?" Fitzgerald gave him a reassuring smile.

"I had recently turned 19," said Castiel. Someone in the juror's box gasped but he refused to look up to see who.

"How old was Ms. Tapping?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel admitted, "but I believe she was in her late 30s or early 40s."

"Why did you change your name from Shurley to Novak?"

"When I left, I was scared she'd try to find me." There was no keeping his voice clinical as Castiel made the admission. He hated owning his fear but Fitzgerald said it was critical that the jury understand how terrified he'd been, how terrified he _still_ was even after so many years, so he let his horror leak free. "I was scared she'd try to make me go back. I was scared that she'd use the contract I'd signed to convince the police to help her recapture me. I was scared I was doomed to be her slave for the rest of my life. I thought she might kill me. Leaving her was the most difficult thing I've ever done. I knew _exactly_ what she was capable of when she was angry, and it terrified me. So I changed my name and moved across the country and hoped she wouldn't find me. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't think anyone would help me."

 _No one did help me. No one until I met Dean._

"Thank you, Mr. Novak," said Fitzgerald. "That will be all."

Taking deep, slow breaths, Castiel tried to regain some strength and calm as the judge announced, "Defense, your witness."

For the first time, Castiel allowed himself a view of the court room. A sea of faces stared at him, most impassive or judgmental – _no, I'm projecting again, I'm always projecting_ – but before he could scan the crowd his view was arrested by Naomi's lawyer standing. He was a broad shouldered black man, head shaved, expression stern and agonizingly familiar. The precious steadiness that Castiel had gathered in the moments since Fitzgerald sat shattered. Eyes wide, he stared and tried desperately to keep his breathing under control.

The lawyer for the defense was Naomi's friend Uriel. How had no one told Castiel that? How had he not noticed before? In the harsh lighting of the courtroom, in his blocky suit, Uriel was even more intimidating than he'd been on a dark July 4th night all those years ago. Castiel's eyes flicked to the picture of him, still projected for the court room to see.

… _get a new pet…_

When that image had been taken, July 4th was two weeks past but the wounds from it had scarce healed thanks to the abuse heaped on him since.

… _he does look pretty scarred…_

His chest was raw and leaking puss, the burns weeks old but untreated: the constellation on his chest, the raw injury left where Adler had pressed a coal to his shoulder, the angry bruises scattered on his thighs and waist and ass, left by powerful hands as Naomi had let first Adler, then Uriel, then many of the other guests have a go at Castiel – so many he'd lost count. It had hurt, it had hurt _so much_ , and he hadn't even gotten hard, hadn't come. That was why Naomi had locked him up afterwards.

… _thank you for giving me the chance to show him proper discipline…_

He hadn't been good. He hadn't earned forgiveness.

… _I see why you like him, he takes a cock so well; he weeps so prettily when he's obeying a command he doesn't like…_

Forgiveness was unachievable.

Bile rose in Castiel's throat. Frantic for some kind of support to strengthen him, he sat up straight to rub the ropes against his back, but all they did was remind him of how filthy he was, spiking pain through the new cuts Dean had made the previous night. His eyes scanned the courtroom – what else had he missed? Who else from his past was here to haunt and intimidate him? Had _none_ of the submissives who'd been on the stand said anything about Uriel? Was it even legal for Uriel to question him, given their past together? Was Castiel allowed to speak up? _Your honor, before the questioning begins I think you need to know that the attorney for the defense repeatedly raped me._ Fitzgerald and Alastair had insisted that Castiel must not speak out of turn, must not get angry, must not rise to any challenges that Naomi and her team threw his way. They'd warned him that if he violated the courtroom rules he'd be found in contempt of court. Fitzgerald sat at a desk for the prosecution, an assistant whose name Castiel didn't know sat beside him. Alastair lounged behind them, managing to appear at complete ease despite being crowded by strangers on both sides, eyes narrowed as he took in everything that happened. A sea of faces surrounded Alastair, none familiar, all judging, all harsh. _No, no, that's not…_ Naomi gave Castiel another secretive, gentle smile. Adler smirked. And behind them…

Castiel blinked.

 _Have they been there the whole time?_

Red hair framing her lovely, kind face, Charlie gave Castiel a half smile and a covert thumbs-up. Beside her, Gilda's head was tilted to the side, her eyes wide and liquid with sympathy.

 _Oh God, they heard everything, they saw the pictures, they know…they both know…_

"Permission to treat the witness as hostile?"

Castiel's attention snapped back to Uriel. The attorney gave him a predatory smile and Castiel tensed his muscles to keep from cowering into the uncomfortable chair on which he sat to testify. Body taut, one of the cuts on his back tore open with a burst of welcome pain; ropes dug into his flesh.

 _What did I do wrong?_

"Mr. Novak, will you answer the question?" The judge leaned over the bench to give Castiel a steely look. There was something pinched to her expression, though, and Castiel dared to hope that behind her impassive eyes, she wasn't unsympathetic.

 _Uriel he hurt me too. He raped me too. Is this legal? Is he allowed to question me, intimidate me, threaten me? Can I say something? Can I stop this?_

"I'm sorry," Castiel stammered. He gulped a deep breath and seized control of himself.

 _Alastair said to adhere to the rules of the courtroom. Alastair said that while I was being cross-interrogated I must speak only when questioned, I must answer honestly, I must make it clear that I was a victim and they the aggressors._

"Can you please repeat the question?"

Uriel quirked an eyebrow, shot the jury a theatrical, skeptical look, and then said mildly, "Mr. Shurley," he gestured at the picture, "did you leave Ms. Tapping in the aftermath of the incident you described, the incident that led you to appear like that?"

"No," Castiel said. "As I explained—"

"Yes, thank you, we heard your earlier allegations concerning the nature of your relationship with Ms. Tapping," Uriel interrupted harshly. Castiel flinched and cast his gaze towards Fitzgerald and Alastair. _Is he allowed to interrupt me like that?_ Fitzgerald looked mildly troubled; Alastair's eyes were even narrower than before, but neither objected. _Are they angry at me? They look like they're angry at me…_ "Why didn't you leave?"

"I…what?" It wasn't the question he'd been expecting. During the preparation he'd been given, Fitzgerald had said that the defense's lawyer would attack Castiel's consent, discuss the contract, attempt to convince the jury that regardless of the harshness of his treatment, Castiel had agreed to belong to Naomi. That was why they'd discussed the contract, broached the topic, seized the initiative before the defense – _Didn't Fitzgerald say that his name was Wisdom or something?_ – could spin the contract against him, use it as a bludgeon to convince the jury that Castiel had consented to do whatever Naomi wanted no matter how unreasonable, no matter how it threatened his life.

"If you were unhappy with the situation in 2000, why didn't you leave until 2002?" Uriel repeated, rolling his eyes dramatically at the need to clarify himself.

"I've already told the court, I left because—"

"Please, your honor, the witness is clearly dodging my questions. If I may treat him as hostile, it would greatly facilitate getting at the _truth_ of this matter."

"Request denied," said Judge Mills. "Mr. Novak, I remind you that you have sworn oath to answer the questions put to you honestly and directly."

"Of course, of course, I…" _Why didn't I leave in 2000?_ "I didn't leave in 2000 because…" _I don't know. I was miserable, I was terrified, yet I stayed. Can I say that?_ He looked to Fitzgerald and Alastair and saw nothing to help him. Glancing to Charlie and Gilda, he grimaced. Both looked so earnest and encouraging. With a shiver, he looked back to the expectant Uriel, who projected angry impatience for all to see. _I'm not actually being difficult, but he clearly hopes that if he pretends I am and screams it loudly enough he'll be able to convince the jury that I am resisting his questioning, that they'll think I have something to hide. I can't let him mislead them like that, can't let him use me. I have to…I have to…_ Ropes nudged against his sides. _I have to get control of myself, tell the truth, and do my best. Dean believes in me. Charlie and Gilda believe in me. I can do this_. "Honestly, I am not sure why I didn't leave in 2000. I was scared and unhappy, but I feared the consequences of trying to escape. Further I…I think I thought Naomi – I mean Ms. Tapping – cared about me."

"You _think_ you thought?" asked Uriel sarcastically. "You aren't _sure_ why you didn't leave? Sounds more like you didn't actually want to leave until later – until you found out she'd lied to you. You didn't leave because you found her treatment unpleasant, you left because of deception – a perfectly _ordinary_ reason to leave, and unrelated to your absurd allegations that you were raped or abused in a relationship that you _gave full consent to_."

"Objection – is there a question in all that conjecture and badgering?" Fitzgerald said mildly.

"If you're done with the witness…" Judge Mills trailed off and looked to Uriel expectantly.

"I am not," Uriel replied. Sauntering casually up to the projector, Uriel picked up the remote and scrolled through images before settling on one that made Castiel's blood run cold. Naomi was dressed in an attractive, well cut pants suit, as usual, this one a rich rosy gray; Castiel knelt before her, naked save for a collar and a long chain binding cuffs on his wrists together. The angle of the camera hid his penis but showed the ragged tears on his back, blood pooling in the crack where he his legs met beneath him. More blood splattered his face, and the bottoms of his feet were torn open. The look on his face as he stared at Naomi was pure adoration, unmistakable: eyes wide, pupils deep with lust, lips parted slightly around a loving smile. "Mr. Shurley, do you remember _this_ day?"

"Yes," Castiel whispered. God, where had all the pictures _come_ from? How had so many photographs been taken of those days without his even knowing?

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you," Uriel snapped.

"Yes, sir, I remember that day," Castiel said with what strength he could find.

"Do you intend to share that memory with the court?" asked Uriel dryly.

Panic flickered through Castiel, tingled unpleasantly through his skin.

 _Was I supposed to say? But he didn't ask me to explain – I answered his question, I answered it exactly as it was asked, what did I do wrong, what did I…_

No one was speaking. Everyone was staring at him, waiting.

"Mr. Shurley?" Uriel said. "Your honor, this is ridiculous!"

"Mr. Wisdom, please stop trying to turn my court room into a circus act and allow Mr. Novak time to answer," advised Judge Mills mildly.

 _It's not just me – Uriel_ is _playing up his replies. Okay – okay, I can do this._

"We were celebrating my graduation from college," Castiel forced out each word, tone clipped, emotionless. If he let himself feel, if he let himself _express_ those feelings, he'd break. "Naomi asked me what I wished from her by way of reward for my hard work. I asked her to…" He trailed off, quavering. Naomi's eyes glittered malevolently as she gave him an affectionate smile. "I asked her to whip me and then make love to me, and she did."

 _I was happy that day. For once, I was happy. Briefly, I was good enough._

"You _asked_ her to whip you?" said Uriel. "That implies that you enjoyed it."

"I haven't hidden that I'm a masochist and submissive," Castiel replied. "It's different when—"

"Excuse me, none of that answers my question," Uriel said.

"Yes, it does," Castiel's temper rose. He was doing his best. "You asked me if I requested her to beat me, and I _did_ , I haven't attempted to hide that I enjoy—"

"Please contain yourself, Mr. Novak," Judge Mills said. With a shaky breath, Castiel tried to calm himself, but his heart raced, his hands shook.

"Mr. Shurley, please show the courtroom your back," Uriel said.

"No! No, I can't," Castiel stammered.

 _They'll see – they'll see everything!_

"Objection. Your honor, what can possibly be the relevance of asking Mr. Novak to reveal himself before those who have abused and hurt him?" Fitzgerald finally, _finally_ came to Castiel's rescue. Castiel struggled to keep a grateful look off his face.

"Mr. Wisdom?" Judge Mills looked the question at Uriel.

"The jury has been shown a small selection of highly prejudicial images and told several stories that are supposedly meant to demonstrate abuse that Mr. Novak sustained over the course of years," Uriel explained. "Our point is, obviously, that there was no abuse. Not only did Mr. Shurley enjoy what was done to him, he even _requested_ such treatment _as a reward_. The scars on his back will make it clear how sustained the treatment was and allow the jury to understand that had Mr. Shurley truly not desired—"

"Mr. Wisdom," Judge Mills cut in sharply, "save the exposition for your closing statement. I'll allow this, but if this becomes an excuse to harass Mr. Novak…"

"No," Castiel whispered. "Please, no, I can't—" Desperate for further rescue, he scanned the crowd but there was no help in Fitzgerald's sympathetic half-shrug, in Alastair's hard stare, in Gilda's horror-struck gasp, in Uriel's victorious smirk. A juror wearing a full suit as if _he_ was the lawyer was watching Castiel with undisguised hunger and Castiel's stomach churned.

"Mr. Shurley, please remove your jacket and shirt and show the court your back," demanded Uriel.

… _I take it all back, your Cassie is such an obedient boy when he's properly disciplined…_

… _bend over and take my cock you little bitch…_

 _...bet Naomi wishes she had a dick so that she could fuck you, too…_

Panting, trying desperately not to make a spectacle of himself by vomiting in front of the court room, Castiel unbuttoned his jacket slowly. He tried to make every movement deliberate but it was hard; his hands trembled so badly he could scarce manage. Shrugging out of the jacket tugged at the ropes binding his torso.

 _They're going to see, oh my God, what will they think? Why did I let Dean do this? Why did I think this was a good idea? I always make the worst choices, this is why I can't be a sub, this is why I can't be with Dean, no, no, I can't give him up, I need him, I love him, he doesn't hurt me or mistreat me, he isn't Naomi_.

"Anytime now, Mr. Shurley," growled Uriel. Castiel had frozen, he realized abruptly, with his hands on the knot of his tie.

"Mr. Wisdom, please restrain yourself from pestering Mr. Novak, this is clearly difficult for him," reprimanded Judge Mills.

 _She…she just pointed out for everyone that I'm not okay. She's trying to_ help _. Is she even allowed to do that?_

 _Is Uriel allowed to question me? Is my rapist_ – yes, _he's my_ goddamn rapist _– allowed to force me to bare myself in a court room? Obviously I don't understand how any of this works, I should accept what kindnesses I can find and hope that the jury isn't too prejudiced against me when they see…_

Castiel tugged off his tie. Button by button, he undid his shirt, revealing the rope down the center of his chest and stomach, the pale spots left by the burns he'd sustained. He kept his gaze on what he was doing. If he watched the courtroom react to his reveal, he'd shatter. When he had the last button undone, Castiel tugged the cuffs over his hands and took his shirt off and exposed _everything_ : scars and ropes and skin tanned during the time he spent swimming and the bandages over his shoulders and the broken fragments that still, barely, could be understood as the letter carved over the small of his back.

Uriel chuckled darkly and Castiel's insides twisted into knots.

"My, my. Isn't that interesting."

" _Mr._ Wisdom," the Judge snapped.

"My apologies, your honor," Uriel said smoothly. "Mr. Shurley, thank you. Care to explain to the courtroom what you're hiding beneath those bandages?"

"Objection!" Fitzgerald actually sounded angry, the most moved Castiel had heard him since they'd met. Castiel refused to look, refused to see everyone staring at him, but he heard a chair shrieking over the tile floor, hard-soled shoes stepping forward. "What Mr. Novak does _now_ has no bearing on this case!"

"Yes, it does," said Uriel, implacable. "What Mr. _Shurley_ _chooses_ to do is the _entirety_ of this case! What about the ropes, Mr. Shurley?" Castiel expected additional questions, more badgering, but there was nothing but silence so deep he could have heard a pin drop if not for the pounding of his heart.

"Please answer, Mr. Novak," said Judge Mills, not unkindly. It didn't matter how _nice_ she sounded – she'd permitted this, encouraged it, and now Castiel was trapped, as trapped as he'd been in Naomi's basement.

"My…" He licked his lips but his mouth was so dry. "My current dom…" He chanced a single look up, only to see Charlie and Gilda, only to get permission and reassurance from the most sympathetic people in the entire room.

 _I wish Dean was here._

A sudden vision of Dean – calm, in control, clear-eyed and confident – came to Castiel. Dean wouldn't be angry with him. Dean wouldn't judge him. The differences between Dean and Naomi was so _obvious_ to Castiel. If he had to speak about Dean in front of everyone, then he had to be sure that the differences were as obvious to his audience. "My boyfriend, Dean, tied this around me this morning as a way to help me through this ordeal."

"And what are the bloody bandages covering?" Uriel's tone made it clear how little he thought of Castiel's careful word choice.

 _The blood shows through? They know it's fresh, they know I'm still broken…_ no _, those cuts are fixing me, not like Naomi claimed to fix me. Dean is not Naomi, Dean will never be like Naomi._

"Dean cut me yesterday, because I—"

"I didn't ask you _why_ Mr. Shurley," Uriel interrupted. "You enjoy being cut?"

 _Why shouldn't I?_

"Yes."

 _I wanted this. I asked for it. Dean wanted it. He accepted my request._

"Those scars – you enjoyed receiving those as well?"

 _I never asked Naomi to scar me. Yes, I requested some whippings. Those I enjoyed. Those are_ not _why she's being prosecuted._

"Some of them."

 _I didn't ask to be burned. I didn't ask to be raped. I didn't ask to be imprisoned. I never wanted that. I had no choice._

"So _you_ say."

 _Had she asked me then, I would have told her. When I tried to tell her, she ignored me._

"Objection!"

 _The jury knows that. I told them about her punishment when I used my safeword. I told them about the times I begged her not to let Adler use me. I told her how upset she became if I wasn't aroused by her abuse. I told them everything._

"Sustained," Judge Mills said. "Please don't interpret the witness, or put words in his mouth."

 _They've heard from experts on BDSM who have, Fitzgerald assures me, explained to them the difference between consensual and nonconsensual kink. They've got the framework for judging my actions, Naomi's actions, Adler's action. I have to trust the jury to help me._

"My apologies, your honor. Mr. Shurley, this _Dean_ you mention, is that the same Mr. Dean Winchester who assaulted Mr. Adler?" Uriel asked.

 _Naomi didn't help me. None of her friends helped me. None of the strangers who saw my bruises ever helped me._

"Yes, sir."

 _Other than Dean, Charlie and Gilda, no one has ever helped me._

"Sounds like a dangerous fellow…"

 _How am I supposed to trust the jury to do the right thing?_

"Mr. Wisdom," Judge Mills said ominously.

 _How am I supposed to trust that Naomi and Adler will receive the punishment they deserve?_

"When you break up with him, do you intend to prosecute him as well?"

 _I wonder if anyone has ever punished them for anything._

"Your honor, this is absurd – _objection_!" interjected Fitzgerald.

 _Fitzgerald is helping. Alastair is helping. It's not just Dean and Charlie and Gilda._

"Sustained. That's _enough_ , Mr. Wisdom."

 _Even Judge Mills is helping, and she's never met me before._

"I think I've made my point," Uriel gave Castiel a predatory smile that Castiel did his best to ignore as he tugged his shirt back on. "And Mr. Shurley, who was responsible for the attack on Ms. Tapping?"

Judging by his superior, triumphant expression, Uriel clearly thought that he had the upper hand by asking that question, but Alastair, Castiel and Fitzgerald had been over this and agreed that should Castiel be asked directly, under oath, who was responsible for hitting Naomi with the computer monitor, he should not lie.

"I did," Castiel said calmly. The jury already knew how she had imprisoned him against his will, in the past and at Sandover. There was no point in beating around the bush.

"Even though Mr. Winchester told the police he had done so?"

"Yes, he was trying to protect me," Castiel spoke in a rush before Uriel could cut him off with another of his pointed _I didn't ask that_ statements.

"Please instruct the witness to _stop answering questions I didn't ask_ ," Uriel snarled.

There was a tense pause.

"Please desist from instructing the bench on how best to do our job," Mills replied with icy calm.

In the front row, Charlie broke into astonished laughter. Several other observers followed suit, and the fraught atmosphere that had reigned since Uriel began his aggressive questioning shattered. As Castiel got the last button done on his shirt, Uriel scowled, shot Castiel an unpleasant look, and said, "No more questions."

"Thank you, Mr. Wisdom."

"Your honor," Fitzgerald leapt to his feet and approached the bench. "Permission to redirect?"

"Be my guest," Judge Mills replied with an inviting gesture. Castiel managed a wan smile, trying to recall all the advice he'd been given on how to behave in order to appear most sympathetic to the jury. Nothing sprang to mind, though. Uriel resumed his seat and glowered at Castiel. Charlie pantomimed strangling him.

"Please describe, briefly, your relationship with Mr. Winchester."

"Objection," Uriel said as if bored of the entire affair. "How is that relevant?"

"You opened the door to a discussion of Mr. Novak's current relationship," Judge Mills said. "Please continue, Mr. Fitzgerald."

"Thank you, your honor." Fiztgerald's easy smiles and calm demeanor were back in full force. "Mr. Novak?"

"Mr. Winchester and I met last summer through an online relationship site," said Castiel.

"The same forum through which Mr. Adler found you?" Fitzgerald interjected.

"Yes – SextersAnon dot com," Castiel agreed. "We engaged in a long distance relationship for six months and met in person two days before my encounter with Ms. Tapping at the Sandover building. Since then, we've been dating, and recently we have resumed a dominant/submissive relationship."

"Congratulations, Mr. Novak," said Fitzgerald with a genuine grin. Uriel managed a single syllable of angry retort before Fitzgerald held up a restraining hand. "Sorry, sorry. Do you and Mr. Winchester have a contract?"

"No."

"Then how do you determine what is and is not acceptable behavior?" Fitzgerald played up his mystification.

"Dean and I have spoken extensively about our shared interests in kink," Castiel explained for the benefit of the jury. "We have not done a single scene together – that is to say, a planned sexual encounter in which Dean and I engage in consensual dominant and submissive behavior – that hasn't been discussed and vetted. The entire basis for our relationship is consent, by which I mean _specific_ explicit consent for each type of activity in which we engage. Dean once told me that I was a masochist, not a doormat, and I think that's an apt description – just because I have agreed to be hurt does not mean that every single day, every single moment, I have the mental and physical strength to be controlled or be hurt. My relationship with Dean reflects that reality. Acceptable behavior is determined by mutual consensus."

"And your relationship with Ms. Tapping was not?"

"Leading the witness," Uriel snapped.

"It's just a follow up question, your honor," said Fitzgerald innocently.

"Agreed. Mr. Novak?"

"No," Castiel replied to Fitzgerald's last question, "after I signed the contract, Naomi required that I move in with her and submit to whatever she wished. I did not understand that those would be her expectations, but I wanted to be a good submissive for her, so I obeyed. There was no time in our lives together that she asked me if I was comfortable with something she planned to do to me, if – for example – I was willing to submit to her expectation that I have sex with other people. When I expressed to her that I did not like doing that, her reply was that if I did not like then I should behave better – that if I behaved, she wouldn't need to punish me, but as long as I didn't behave she was under no obligation to refrain from doing things I did not like. I—"

"Your honor!" Uriel interrupted. Blinking, Castiel cast about for some indication of what he'd done wrong, but no one offered anything.

"Thank you, Mr. Novak," Fitzgerald said graciously before Judge Mills could speak. "That will be all."

* * *

"You are aware that we are in the men's bathroom, right?" Castiel said hoarsely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The room was dark, overcrowded with small stalls, and smelled of feces and lemon cleaning detergent.

"Who gives a shit about some dicks?" Charlie replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm worried about you."

"I'm…"

 _It was_ Uriel _, and I said all those things in front of_ everyone _! There were members of the press there! It's going to be in the newspaper! Oh God, what if they print my picture? What if people recognize me after this?_

Stomach heaving, Castiel leaned over and retched throat-searing bile in to the already reeking toilet bowl. Charlie made a sympathetic noise and squatted beside him, patting him on the back. Flickers of pain radiated out from where she touched, triggered spasms from the cuts that Dean had made. Breathing raggedly, Castiel longed for something to wash the taste of vomit from his mouth. As if on cue, Charlie offered him a water bottle.

"You did fantastic, Cas," she said reassuringly. "Everyone could see what a douche bag Mr. Wisdom was being—"

"Uriel," Castiel interrupted. With a groan, he leaned over and threw up again, sick yellow mixed with the fresh water he'd barely had a chance to swallow. Charlie patted a line down his spine, pressing the ropes into his skin. "His name is _Uriel_."

"What?" Charlie said, startled. "I thought it was…the newspapers said it was R. U. Wisdom. It was such an absurd name, I remembered it."

"He's a dom," explained Castiel. "He's one of Naomi's friends."

"Oh," she said. "Oh! Wait, did he…Cas…no, you don't have to tell me anything, I'm sorry, but…I mean…shit, I don't know anything about the law…lemme just…"

Nodding weakly, Castiel slumped against the cool porcelain as Charlie rose and went to the door. "Gilda, can you get Alastair?" he heard her say, though he didn't hear the answer. In moments, she was back at his side, cradling him gently, offering him more water. "Dean will be here soon, okay? That's good, right?"

"Yes," Castiel agreed, "it's great. You don't need to be so careful of me, Charlie, I'm better now – really."

"Yeah, I can tell by the way you're throwing up in the courthouse bathroom," she replied bitingly. Castiel flinched. "Dammit, Dean is rubbing off on me. I'm sorry, Cas. That was uncalled for. What you did today was, like, insanely brave. It's alright that you're upset now."

There was a knock on the bathroom door; Charlie rose, opened it, and called to Castiel, "is it alright if Alastair comes in to speak with you?" There was a pause during which Castiel could hear the rumble of a voice but the words blurred together incomprehensively. "Alone?"

"It's fine," Castiel said. It wasn't fine. He neither liked nor trusted Alastair, not after the things the sadist had done to Dean, but he was spent for the day and couldn't face the prospect of arguing back or upsetting either Charlie or Alastair with an objection.

"I'll be right outside," Charlie said. Footsteps and the clatter of the door striking the jamb spoke to Alastair coming in and Charlie departing.

"Good performance today," Alastair said. He had a peculiar way of speaking that always made it sound like he was being sarcastic. "Very impressive job Dean did on your back, too. I didn't think he had the balls to cut anyone, not now that he's turned to _rope_ as a surrogate for a knife. Did you really _consent_ to let him cut you? Always seemed to me he preferred unwilling victims."

 _Oh, no – no no no no – that's not true, that's not what Dean is like. Dean is not Naomi. Dean is not Naomi, Dean is not Naomi, Dean is not Naomi…_

 _Dean IS NOT Alastair._

Coughing and spitting, Castiel managed to hold back as his stomach roiled again.

"Well, hopefully he won't get bored of you _too_ quickly," Alastair continued. "But he's a lot like me in that regard; he gets bored so easily. It'd be a pity if you ended up with even more scars you regret – especially now that you've said, under oath, that you consented to Dean cutting you up. That would make it might-y hard to press charges should you change your mind and decide you're not so fond of Dean's special brand of violence." Dropping to a crouch beside Castiel, Alastair heaved an overdramatic sigh.

 _This is what Alastair is really like. This is what he's been hiding all trial. Why now treat me like this now? Why not before?_

"He was always one of my favorites, but he hasn't been the same since he ventured out on his own – left part of himself behind on my operating table, if you ask me."

 _Because Alastair needed me to trust him. He needed me to testify. For his own ends – for this_ favor _that Dean has promised him – Alastair has agreed to help, has delighted in taking down two other doms, but underneath the debonair exterior he's still a sadist._

"I carved him into a new person."

 _He cut Dean? He_ cut _Dean. Why didn't Dean tell me? Alastair cut him – Alastair tortured him! Oh, Dean…_

"I could do the same for you, if you wanted." A hand came to rest directly over one of Castiel's bandages, fingers dug into the torn flesh beneath, and Castiel shuddered in pain and disgust.

"No," snapped Castiel angrily, rounding on Alastair. The narrow-faced man didn't react beyond a cold smile. "Get your hands off me! Get out!"

"Didn't you have something you wanted to talk to me about?" coaxed Alastair.

"It doesn't matter," Castiel forced himself to his feet and out of the bathroom stall. The stall was claustrophobically small. The room was claustrophobically small. His breathing quickened.

 _No, he can't hurt me. Charlie and Gilda are right outside._

 _But what if I'm locked in again? What if, even if they want to help, they can't? What if I can't get away?_

 _What do Uriel's actions matter in comparison to the prospect of Alastair getting his hands on me? Or, worse, on Dean?_

"If it's relevant to the trial, I'd appreciate you letting me know," Alastair continued to smile at him. Castiel edged closer to the door, ready to make a dive for the handle. "After all of this anguish and angst and melodrama, it'd be a shame if we lost. And, if I don't have _all_ the relevant information, you never know – anything will happen. I imagine Naomi will be _quite_ upset with you when she's fr—"

Castiel's hand darted to the doorknob at the same instant there was a resounding knock and Dean's voice, dulled through the wood, called, "Cas, you okay in there?" The door jerked open to reveal Dean standing on the other side, hand raised to knock again, Charlie and Gilda standing behind him with matching worried grimaces painting their faces. "Get out of here, Alastair," Dean said, wrapping an arm protectively around Castiel's shoulders and tugging him into the hall. Relief flooded Castiel and he pressed into Dean's heat.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Alastair shook his head. "I am _very_ disappointed in you, Dean. Your new toy is poorly behaved, and the marks you left on his back? I credited you with more…professionalism…than that." Stepping into the doorway, he loomed menacingly until Dean took a step back to allow him room enough to pass. "Well, be seeing you."

Neither Castiel nor his friends spoke until Alastair had disappeared down the hall. "Did he hurt you?" Dean demanded as soon as they had privacy.

"No," Castiel replied. It wasn't exactly a lie and he didn't want to talk about the things Alastair had said, not then, not in front of Charlie and Gilda.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Charlie said. "I had no idea that there was anything like…whatever I just overheard…between you."

"It's not your fault, Charlie," Dean shook his head. "It's mine. Alastair is one hell of a lawyer but he's also the most sadistic son of a bitch I ever met. He taught me everything I know."

"He said he cut you," breathed Castiel, soft enough that only Dean would be able to hear. "He said he hurt you." Dean's arms around him stiffened, tightened painfully, and Castiel couldn't stop a whimper.

"Sorry, Cas," Dean muttered. "We'll talk later, okay?" Speaking louder for the benefit of the women, he continued, "I know we said we'd do dinner, but maybe we could meet up tomorrow instead? I wanna get Cas back to the hotel – I'm guessing it was an even rougher day than we anticipated?" Gilda nodded emphatic agreement, and Charlie shot them each a concerned smile.

"Does tomorrow at 8 work?" Charlie said. She paused until they both nodded agreement. "Awesome. Give us a call if there's anything we can do to help. I hate that this happened to you two, ya know? After what happened to Gilda…well, we'll talk tomorrow, kay?"

"Sure," Dean said absently, his attention all on Castiel. A momentary flare of fear rattled Castiel. Dean looked so stern, so angry, his posture was so tense… "It's not you, Cas," Dean murmured, running a hand down Castiel's side. "Definitely not angry at you. Fuckin' Alastair…when we get back to the hotel, I'll tell you anything you want to know. Shoulda done so ages ago. Never shoulda let you think it'd be safe to be alone with him, not when he didn't need you any longer."

"You told me enough to know better," Castiel disagreed. "I should have—"

"Get home and get some rest, guys," Charlie interrupted, reminding them both that they were still in company, still standing in the echoing hallways of the Dallas Criminal Court building.

"See ya tomorrow, Charlie," Castiel said. He managed a smile to show her that he was alright, but she still looked worried. "Thank you both for coming to support me today."

"Anything we can do," Gilda promised.

"Seriously," Charlie agreed. "Peace out, bitches!"

* * *

Endnote:

Reminder: everything I know about the law I learned from TV and movies. Hopefully this isn't *too* far from what's actually possible...

Next chapter should be up Friday or Saturday.


	3. Chapter 3

Wanted to shout a big THANK YOU to AO3 users ladyeternal and morningbecomeselectra for pointing out some relevant law-related stuff. I've done my best to address what they mention with my limited (read: virtually non-existent) knowledge of the law; I hope that what I wrote isn't too implausible...

* * *

Dean's lips works softly against him, no urgency, no push for more. When they'd first returned to the hotel room, when Dean had first pressed Castiel against the wall and brought their mouths together, Castiel had grasped and fumbled, urged Dean towards aggression, longed desperately to be shoved around and _punished_ for the awful mess his hours on the stand had become. Castiel had been a fool to wear a self-tie to court, a fool to seek cuts to his skin the night before one of the most important days of his life, a fool to not find out about Uriel, a fool not to talk to Fitzgerald and Alastair about the defense attorney, a fool to allow himself to be cornered alone by Alastair. Every choice that Castiel had made since arriving in Dallas had been worse than the last, each alone compounded to form a disaster of Castiel's own making. Dean had refused to give in to Castiel's silent importuning, maintained the same tender touches and gentle kisses until Castiel's nerves dissipated, until Castiel melted under Dean's affection.

"I love you," Castiel whispered breathily. Dean's arms wrapped around Castiel more firmly, one encircled his waist, the other reaching up to cup his shoulder, palm placing the barest pressure on Castiel's new-cut scarification. Eager for Dean's warmth – his physical heat, his emotional presence, his care and concern and support – Castiel embraced Dean in return, kneading at the muscles of Dean's back. Dean panted his way through several kisses that somehow communicated reticence, and then Dean broke off, rested his forehead on Castiel's shoulder, breathing hard.

"Cas, I—"

"It's okay, Dean." Castiel matched the reassuring words with soothing strokes down Dean's back. So much restrained power trembled beneath his fingertips that it was awe-inspiring. "I don't need you to feel the same way." _But it would be so wonderful if you did_. "This is enough for me. You're enough for me."

 _Am I enough for you?_

"Did you say that to Naomi, too?" The words hit Castiel like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. With a gasp, he tried to pull back and slammed his head hard against the wall. Dean looked up, eyes dark pools as he met Castiel's astonished, hurt gaze. "I'm sorry – fuck, I'm sorry. You don't…you don't have to answer that. Obviously."

"I will," said Castiel, mustering self-control and donning it like armor. "I did say that, or close enough, to her. Naomi demanded adulation – _vocal_ adulation – and when she required me to speak my feelings, I did, loudly, for all to hear. I shouted them to strangers, I screamed them as she rode me, I garbled them and choked on them around a ball gag. Is that what you want to know, Dean? That I once loved her? Is that a surprise? Didn't you once love Alastair?" Dean went rigid beneath Castiel's fingers and for a moment fear flickered in his thoughts, that he'd pushed too far, admitted too much, but the feeling did not last. Dean would never hurt him. When Dean was upset, he lashed out sometimes, said things they both wished Dean had kept to himself, but Castiel was not in danger from Dean. If Castiel hadn't answered Dean's unfair question, there'd have been no consequences.

"I did," Dean acknowledged, trembling. Castiel's breath caught. He never expected the moments when Dean weakened, never got over how moved he was when that much strength and courage and determination and undeniable authority was exposed and shaken and vulnerable. Dean was never more beautiful and Castiel never felt more powerful. "I should have told you all about him. There always were reasons not to – you were struggling, you were upset, you were trying so hard to recover, I didn't want to make things more difficult for you. By the time you were well enough and I was out of bullshit excuses the silence felt unbreakable. I'm so sorry, Cas. You should have known – you should have heard from me what he was. I should never have let him near you. If he hurts you…"

"Today was difficult," Castiel acknowledged, resisting the urge to pretend that he was fine, pretend that his misery was less important than Dean's, "both because of Alastair and because of the trial. But I will be alright."

"Tell me about it?" asked Dean plaintively.

Gently kissing Dean on the cheek, Castiel coaxed Dean across the room to the bed, nudged him to lay on his stomach, straddled Dean's hips and massaged his shoulders. Stretching his arms caused the scabbed-over wounds on Castiel's back to tingle and burn. Part of him thought the situation weird – Castiel's day had been so difficult, shouldn't Dean be taking care of him? – but it felt appropriate for him to take care of Dean. Castiel felt stronger knowing that he could support his boyfriend, support his dom. Feeling Dean ease beneath his fingers was wonderful, liberating, empowering.

 _Is this the feeling that doms chase? Not Naomi, certainly, she got off on her own power and control, but Dean, perhaps? Is this why it was so upsetting to him when I was suffering and he couldn't help me?_

Working his thumbs up and down Dean's back, Castiel unfolded the events of his day. He glossed over the details – Dean knew most of them already, knew in painful detail what Naomi had done to Castiel – but Castiel reflected on how difficult it had been to speak of his past before an audience. Dean was upset to learn about Uriel but beneath Castiel's expert hands, he gradually calmed again. Finally, Castiel dragged out the details of his conversation with Alastair. When he fell silent, the bedroom was still and quiet, the view of the twilight sky over Dallas dazzling from the windows of the penthouse suite. Dean was so still that Castiel thought he'd fallen asleep, and in Dean's peace, he found peace. Content, Castiel took his hands from Dean's back, stretched his fingers to work out the stiffness that the long massage had caused, and leaned down to paint a soft kiss over the back of Dean's neck, exposed by the stretched collar of his t-shirt.

"I met him at a kegger when I was a senior in high school," Dean mumbled into the blankets just as Castiel's mouth touched Dean's skin. Castiel froze.

 _He is going to tell me._

 _He trusts me._

 _God, I love him so much I can hardly bear it._

"My friend Meg decided to host a big-ass party to celebrate homecoming," Dean said, voice distant, quiet, as if telling a story about something that happened to a stranger. "Her dad and some of his friends – including Alastair – were in the basement playing poker." Castiel eased down, lined his arms up with Dean's side, crowded Dean close against the bed, hoped by proximity and heat to give comfort as Dean had so often done for him. "I had never been so wasted and we'd just won a football game; I stood my ass on top of one of the kitchen counters, head bangin' the light fixture, boasting about how I'd broken some dick's nose on the opposing team. I don't remember it well but apparently I went on – at length – about how red his blood was or some shit and how his nose crunched under my hand and man I musta sounded like a fuckin' psycho and Alastair was standing by the fridge and listening and I remember how fucking _intense_ he looked, like his eyes were gonna tear me apart. It scared the shit outta me but I was also…like…intrigued? And kinda turned on? I'd only been with chicks cause I was so deep in the closet that I'd found fucking Narnia but I knew I dug dudes and I remember thinking that someone like Alastair could own my ass any time he wanted and I'd fuckin' scream for it." Dean shuddered. "I got that right in one."

Castiel longed to say something reassuring, but he wasn't sure what would be appropriate and he didn't want to interrupt. Instead, he smudged wet kisses over Dean's tanned skin, using actions to say what he couldn't express in words. _It's not your fault any more than it was my fault. We were children and they were adults. They knew exactly what they were doing to us. We didn't know who we were yet. We didn't know what we were getting in to. Some people get lucky and find wonderful mentors who guide them into the fullness of their self-identity. Some people figure it out on their own. And some people are like us, dragged kicking and screaming too early to what we might have come to eventually on our own, peacefully and happily, had we only been given room to grow._

"Meg was my bestie – fuck, did I _seriously_ just say the word 'bestie?' – anyway, we were buds and I couldn't get Alastair outta my head or out of my Goddamn masturbation fantasies so I kept finding excuses to go over to her place during their weekly poker games. Everyone thought Meg was my girlfriend but that was bull. She knew the score. She knew I was gay as Liberace and that Alastair had caught my eye. She thought I was out of my fuckin' mind but she helped out anyway. There was a lot of stupid-ass teenage angst, a lot of misunderstandings and stupid delays, a lot of my cowardly bullshit keepin' me back from what I really wanted, but long story short, Alastair came up to me and said he could teach me what I wanted to know. And he did. He invited me over to his house and introduced me to his sub, Ruby. That was…that was fuckin' mind blowing, seriously. He kept her naked in the house all the time, ball gag jammed in her mouth, vibrator up her pussy, and did whatever the fuck he wanted to her, whenever the fuck he wanted to. I never figured out if she even liked it – never have forgiven myself for not checkin' when I left if she wanted out. Anyway, he strapped her down and cut her and upped the speed on that vibrator until she came screaming around the gag. It was the hottest thing I'd ever seen, God, I was so fuckin' ashamed of myself for bein' that turned on by her blood. But Alastair, he told me it was alright, told me it was perfectly natural, told me that some people were meant to have power and others were meant to be powerless and that from the first time he saw me he knew I would be one of the powerful. He said he'd teach me. He groped at my cock through my jeans until I came and invited me back the next week."

"I forgive you," Castiel murmured as Dean fell silent. "It's not your fault you left her behind. You were young and in a frightening situation. I left Uriel's sub and Adler's sub when I fled, left Naomi unexposed to prey on others. It was all we could do to take care of ourselves, Dean, it was alright that we had no strength left to spare for anyone else."

"Shoulda been strong enough," Dean said so softly that Castiel did not think he was meant to hear. Turning his head to the side so that one of his eyes could, barely, gaze up at Castiel, Dean continued: "After a month, he was fucking me. After two months, he had me cutting Ruby. After six months, he had me strapped to that table, insisting that the best way to learn where to cut and how to cut was to experience it first-hand. Fuck, but that hurt, and I took it, I took all of it, because I wanted him to be proud of me, because I wanted to be good enough for him, because I deserved it for all the times I'd cut that mewling bitch of a sub of his…eventually I think I took it just 'cause I dreamed of how I could use it against him some day. He'd slice into my skin and I'd imagine the noises he'd make if he was strapped to that gurney, if he was stabbed and cut and bled." Dean swallowed. "I'm not proud of this shit, Cas."

"I didn't think you were," said Castiel reassuringly. "But it means a lot – it means so much that you're telling me."

"After 'bout a year – I was livin' at home, workin' as a mechanic, helpin' my family save money so that Sammy could go to college – Alastair said I was finally ready for a sub of my own," Dean continued. His voice was hoarse and strained, like he was forcing every word out. _That's probably exactly how I sounded when I told him the things Naomi did to me. I wonder if he's ever told anyone this before?_ "Meg and I had talked it over; she pegged me sometimes, when Alastair wouldn't fuck me, and she was a masochist like _woah_. So, my very first scene with my very own sub, she's tied down on my bed. She's bleeding and begging and fuckin' dripping. I'm totally gone thinkin' about how awesome it's gonna feel when I put strap-on on her, roll her over and grind her carved back against the hardwood floors while I ride her, when I turn around and there's my kid brother, fuckin' 15 years old, staring at me like I'm the scariest son of a bitch he's ever seen. That's the last time I saw him. Still can't get that fuckin' expression out of my head. Shit, but I loved that kid." Dean masked distress in gruffness, rubbed his face against the blanket in a futile effort to hide the tears filling his eyes.

 _There's nothing I can say to make such pain heal._

Snuggling closer to Dean, Castiel hoped that his own lack of distress would communicate his faith and confidence, would help Dean remember that who he was in the past couldn't define his future.

"Anyway, my parents fuckin' kicked me out. Called Meg's parents, got her kicked out too. We thought 'bout gettin' our own place but rent was fuckin' astronomical and Alastair had spare bedrooms and it seemed like a fuckin' no-brainer to move into his house instead. Yeah, I was a stupid fucker when I was young. Still am, sometimes, come to think. You told me a whole mess of stories about specific times that being with Naomi fricken sucked – I'm not gonna do that. Maybe sometime. But…I can't…"

"It's okay, Dean," Castiel soothed, breathing the words against Dean's skin. He hadn't flinched once. He hadn't shifted. He held Dean close – cradled Dean as if he were precious – just as Dean had done for him. _Because he is precious. God, he's so precious to me. What would I do without him?_

 _No, don't think like that – that's dangerous. Don't make the same mistakes again! I don't need him. I don't!_

 _That's right. I don't_ need _him. I could leave if I wanted to. I could manage if he left. But I love him and I don't want to leave and I don't want him to leave._

"I've got you, Dean. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean exhaled a shaky breath. "Meg died." Despite himself, Castiel gasped. It was the last thing he'd expected to hear. Instantly, he relaxed again against Dean, determined to offer reassurance, but Dean had physically withdrawn, body even more tense than it had been earlier. Rather than risk making Dean uncomfortable, Castiel rolled onto the bed beside Dean, lay on his back with his head turned so that he could watch Dean's face as Dean remained on his stomach. Dean didn't protest the movement, hardly seemed to react at all. His eyes were glassy, his gaze fixed on something far away. "It wasn't me. I mean, it might as well have been me, but it wasn't. Alastair was cutting her – demonstrating – and she had a fuckin' heart attack. She was 22. It was a freak accident. Her parents were furious, the cops charged Alastair with manslaughter and me as an accessory, but as I've mentioned, Alastair is a damn fucking amazing lawyer and the charges didn't stick. In the course of the investigation, I found out it wasn't the first time that someone had died under Alastair's knife, and it wasn't the first time he'd used his legal skills to dodge the bullet. Some douchey, well-meaning cop suggested that I vamoose while I still could and at first I tried to stick it out but Alastair was fucking _terrifying_ after the trial. Asked me to do all kinds of stuff way beyond anything I'd done before. I couldn't. But I had to. I freaked, thought that if I told him I couldn't, he'd kill me. Meg had been talking about leaving. How could I be sure her death was an accident? So I left. The cop took me in, short term – Bobby Singer. Friend of my parents, tried to reconcile us but they weren't interested. Didn't want their sick, twisted, violent, deranged son back, 'specially not after I helped murder someone."

There was a depth of pain in Dean's eyes, pinching his face, that was agonizing to see. Castiel offered him a reassuring smile. Closing his eyes, Dean lifted his shoulders enough to turn his head and face away from Castiel before slumping back into the mattress. He expected Dean to continue speaking, but no further revelations came and Castiel filled the silence rather than risk Dean's self-condemnation spin out of control.

"This doesn't change anything between us, Dean," Castiel rumbled quietly. Dean's shoulders twitched and tightened and he tucked his arms beneath himself. "I'm not going to leave. I'm not going to judge you. I hate that you went through that. But it's part of you, just like the things I experienced are part of me, and I'm glad that you are the man you are. I don't want anyone else."

"Castiel…" Reverence tinged Dean's whispered word. A shiver trailed desire and adoration through Castiel's body, a feeling of love more profound than any he'd experienced before.

"I love you, Dean," Castiel continued, desperate to put into words some of the emotion roiling him. If only he could share that raw _feeling_ with Dean, surely Dean would understand. "Nothing you say or do is going to change that."

"Don't say that." Devotion gave way to thinly masked agony and the adulation coursing through Castiel twisted painfully. "I could hurt you. Sometimes I _do_ hurt you, and I don't just mean physically, I mean – like, when I open my big stupid fuckin' mouth and snap out shit that I shouldn'ta said. Or when I call Alastair to be your damn lawyer advocate and he tries to assault you in a bathroom. You deserve so much better than me, Castiel. And…" Castiel hardly dared breathe lest he interrupt Dean, give Dean reason not to continue. They'd worked for months to improve their communication but Dean rarely opened up about his feelings, rarely admitted his own sense of inadequacy. Castiel would do everything he could to ensure that Dean didn't feel judged, didn't feel endangered, didn't feel anything but safe and protected and valued and cared for. "And I'm so scared you're gonna figure that out sometime – sometime _soon_ – and then you'll be gone." Dean rolled on to his side away from Castiel and curled in on himself, tucking his knees in protectively, guarded and distant despite their physical proximity.

"I won't, Dean." Hesitantly, Castiel reached out, brushed finger tips over Dean's back, jerked his hand away when Dean flinched and shied from the contact. "I swear I—"

"No!" Dean interrupted.

"But—"

"I'm not Naomi, Cas," said Dean, determinedly speaking over Castiel. "You don't owe me _forever_. You don't need to pledge loyalty. I would never _order_ you to share your affections, I'd never require anything like that of you. This isn't a scene and I'm not your dom and I…I mean, I am your dom, and fuck do I _want_ to be your dom, I want to cut you open and watch you bleed, I want to cut more feathers into your back _right the fuck now_ even though I know that the first two aren't healed enough and that I should wait. If I…if…then why do I want to tear you apart, Cas? How can I want that and claim that I…how dare I pretend that I have any right to you at all?"

"You have the right because I've granted you my permission," Castiel explained, glad to have a glimmer of understanding about what had been holding Dean back from words of affection. "I want you to be my dom. I want you to cut me. I want to feel _everything_ as you enjoy watching me bleed. I want you to scar more feathers in my back, too, and I'm only held back because _you_ insisted that the first two would need time to heal before we could proceed. You don't get to tell me how I _should_ feel. You don't get to tell me what I _deserve_. I decide that, and I've decided that I want and deserve you, that how I feel is appropriate. It wasn't easy for me, either. Dr. Ellicott and I have talked for hours about you, hours and hours of wondering if I can trust myself, if I dare to trust you. But I do trust you, Dean. I trust you and I want you. What I'm not clear on – what you've scarce told me – is what _you_ want. And you don't have to tell me. As you say – you owe me nothing, Dean, nothing except whatever you wish to grant. All I can do is tell you my feelings as clearly as I'm able. I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to become capable of that, but I'm doing my best because you are worth it to me. You are worth everything to me."

Weight settled atop Castiel as Dean moved with shocking celerity, pinning him to the bed, kissing Castiel's mouth as if starved for the flavor, as if they hadn't been making out an hour before. "Cas – _Castiel_ ," Dean groaned, nipping and kissing and rutting, swallowing Castiel's surprised whimpers. "I'm yours. Jesus fucking Christ, you gotta know that – I'm yours, I'm _completely_ yours."

"Dean…"

"If you'll have me," continued Dean, voice growing breathier and more desperate with every word. "However you'll have me, as long as you'll have me – fuck, when I'm with you, I _know_ that how I am is okay, I _believe_ it's okay that I want to cut you and bleed you." Frantic words and urgent movements cut off every attempt Castiel made to interject and reassure. The feel, smell, sound, taste, of Dean swamped his senses. Castiel was drowning and would have thanked Dean for the honor if only he could find words. "You make me believe and it scares me so fucking much but I need it. I _need_ you." Leaning back abruptly to rest on his haunches, Dean raked a hand through his hair, chest heaving as he struggled to get enough air. His weight settled heavy on Castiel's erection; Dean's cock made an uncomfortable-looking bulge at the zipper of his jeans. Bereft, Castiel shuddered and grimaced, cold without Dean's heat pressed to his chest.

"Is this okay?" Inadvertantly, Dean's hips rolled against Castiel's dick and Dean groaned. "Please – please—"

"Say it, Dean." Castiel was shocked at the authority in his voice. Dean's expression grew pained and a tremor of fear coursed from Castiel's fingertips, down his limbs to his toes, but it faded as quickly as it began. They weren't in his scene. Right now, Dean wasn't his dom – Dean was his _boyfriend_ – and wouldn't lash out because of Castiel's demand.

"No, I…don't want to influence you," Dean echoed Castiel's thoughts, "don't want to force you – don't want to wonder if you're only letting things happen cause I'm your dom—" Cutting himself off, Dean bit his lip. His thighs trembled with self-restraint as he hovered inches above Castiel's crotch. It was all Castiel could do not to grab Dean's hips and force him down.

"Dean," Castiel snapped. Dean's eyes focused on him with sudden, shocking intensity, black pooled in white all that was visible in the darkening room. "I need you to _trust me_." It wasn't a fair thing to demand, especially not in light of all of Castiel's trust issues, and yet—

"I do," Dean whispered. There was a beat pause and then Dean leaned down, kissed Castiel, murmured gruffly against his lips, "I trust you, Cas, God, please let me be yours. I want you so badly. Not just—" Dean's hips rolled again by way of explanation and they each groaned hot breath into the other's mouth. "All of you, Cas – your fuckin' gorgeous blue eyes and your big-ass vocabulary and your shit taste in music and those Goddamn cat videos you send me when you think I'm depressed and the shrill note in your voice when you scream and fuckin' listing all the ways I love your ass makes me sound like a fuckin' psycho and I don't care because I want you, I need you, _I love you_."

Dean's declaration hit Castiel like a fall, knocked the wind from him, blanked his vision. He bucked up from the bed, slammed his lips against Dean's, slammed his cock against Dean's ass, wrapped his arms around Dean and sloppily pawed his back. Between ever kiss, " _Dean_ " leaked from his lips, a supplication, a prayer, a wish. Dean rutted his ass against Castiel's crotch, mumbling incoherently against Castiel's mouth until he abruptly stopped and drew back enough to meet Castiel's eyes and _looked_.

Deep green eyes stared into Castiel's, pupils wide in the dim light. His golden skin was flushed, the freckles scattered over his cheeks and nose brown pinpricks amidst the pink-brown. Stubble, black in contrast to his flesh, made dark contours over his chin and cheeks. Pink lips spread around every panting breath, granting glimpses of Dean's tongue caught between straight, white teeth. Disheveled, aroused, quivering, Dean was the handsomest man Castiel had ever seen.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful," Dean breathed into the negligible, vast expanse of empty air between them.

Both stared for long moments, and then as one they leaned to the side, trying to keep their hips together as they groped towards the nightstand beside the bed and the lube that Dean had stashed in its drawer. They moved so desperately that they got in each other's way, Dean tumbled to his side on the bed, Castiel knocked the lamp against the wall, rolled and pinned one of Dean's legs to the mattress hard enough that Dean cried out. Dean tugged the drawer open, slamming it accidentally into Castiel's reaching hand, seized the lube, and shoved Castiel onto his back. Mesmerized, Castiel watched Dean fumble at his own pants and fail to get them open as he juggled the lube bottle. With a muttered curse, Dean chucked the lube bottle to Castiel, who was so startled that he failed to catch it. It hit him in the chest and rolled onto the bed. The light blow knocked him from his reverie; as Dean scrambled out of his pants and boxers, Castiel ripped his own pants open, tugged his hard cock out and waited with baited breath to see what Dean would do next.

Open hunger accented every panting breath Dean took. Tossing his jeans aside, not bothering to remove his shirt, Dean moved with coordinated, fluid grace: grabbed the lube bottle, moved to straddle Castiel once more, slathered Castiel's cock and held it in place as he lowered himself. The sudden pressure was unbelievable, fantastic, as Dean's body enveloped him, swallowed him whole, and Castiel groaned.

"I love you," Dean growled, bringing his ass to rest on Castiel's crotch, and Castiel groaned again.

There was no rhythm to Dean's movements. Chasing his pleasure as he rode Castiel's cock, Dean rolled his hips, pivoted, leaned back to slam himself down, leaned forward to thrust his ass up and back, no pattern, no guessing what he intended to do next. His wide-open eyes didn't seem to see anything, his jaw hung slack around his gasps. Castiel tried to match him, tried to help, tried to determine what Dean intended, but as he took up his own uneven thrusting tempo all he managed was to screw things up – he thrust up and back as Dean moved forward, his cock popped free, and they both moaned in disappointment. Dean grabbed hold of him again, sank down onto his cock again, and Castiel gave up trying to further Dean's pleasure and focused instead on his own. Everything Dean did felt amazing, every sound Dean made drove Castiel higher. Reaching out, he sought to grasp Dean's hips, but Dean intercepted his hands – not so sightless after all! – twined their fingers together, leaned forward and pinned Castiel to the bed. His movements became more steady, up, down, up, down, his ass cheeks smacking Castiel's thighs on every thrust. Tentatively, Castiel matched Dean's movements and Dean's eyes rolled up and shut as he groaned.

"So…fucking…good…" They moved quickly, the break between every word punctuated by the slap of skin on skin, a wet squelch of lube as Castiel's cock filled Dean's hole over and over again. "You…are so…damn…perfect…" Dean's cock slapped against Castiel's chest, neglected. Straining at Dean's grip, Castiel longed to reach for it but Dean's muscles tightened, a vein on his arm stood out prominently, and he refused to let Castiel move. "Love you…fucking…love you so…fucking…much…Castiel…" Castiel groaned. He was inundated, swamped, with pleasure. Friction coursed bliss through his veins, Dean's ruined voice played havoc with his mind, Dean's words caused a cascade of emotion that amplified every feeling of pleasure.

"I love you!" Castiel gasped. Dean groaned and ground down hard on Castiel's cock. Bliss like an electrical shock made Castiel's lips and fingers and sides tingle.

"I know you do…" Dean slammed himself down hard and rolled his hips over and over, not bothering to lift his body as he chased stimulation. The movement rubbed all of Castiel's cock simultaneously and he pushed up into the contact, unable to stop his body from pursuing his orgasm. "…you fuckin' lunatic…" Dean's voice was so broken it was difficult to understand. "…so fricken crazy…" Shifting slightly, Dean managed to find an angle that took Castiel deeper, and over his own groan Castiel somehow heard the pleased gasp that leaked out of Dean as he bounced in place. "Shit," Dean whispered rapturously, "right there, right there, right…right…fuck, Cas... _fuck_ …" The muscles encompassing Castiel tensed and clenched and he gasped, arching off the bed, as the pressure pushed him into ecstasy. Thrusting up from the bed, he buried himself hard and deep as he came, earning small, breathy moans from Dean each time. Wetness spread over Castiel's shirt, Dean's come staining wet white lines into the fabric.

"You really think I'm crazy?" Castiel whispered drily into the sweaty, heated silence that settled around them as they stilled. Despite Dean's exuberance as he'd spoken, the concept made Castiel uncomfortable.

"Gotta be a little nuts to love me," Dean breathed. " 's not a bad thing. I'm kinda fuckin' nuts, too, and I love you so much it scares the shit outta me, so there's that." Dean's smile was absurd, cheeks flushed with orgasm, eyes unfocused, chin coated with saliva that had leaked free as he'd gasped and moaned. Dean's smile was absolutely _perfect._

"Neither of us is crazy, Dean," Castiel said firmly. He worked his hands free from Dean's slackened grip, wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders and drew him down until their chests met. Damp fabric pressed into Castiel's flesh, but he didn't care. There'd be time to clean up later. "Neither of us is broken. Neither of us is whole and unblemished, either, but we're repaired. We've got things we need to work on, we've got things we need to improve, but we can do so _together_. I'm not leaving you, Dean. I'm never going to leave you."

"Me neither, Cas," Dean mouthed against the curve of Castiel's neck, "me neither."

* * *

"Call him," Dean said, slapping Castiel's cell phone on the desk before him. Looking up from his e-mail, Castiel frowned. "You've got an hour before the trial resumes for the morning. Fitzgerald needs to know what you told me yesterday about Uriel."

"I was considering not doing so," Castiel admitted. Dean gave him an incredulous look. "Regardless of my history with Uriel – whatever his real name is – it's over now. I've testified and there's nothing more to discuss."

"Bullshit," Dean spat. "Did his presence there throw you off?" Castiel grimaced and looked away. "You know what? You don't have to answer – I _know_ it did. If you acted differently than you would have, said things you wouldn't have, didn't say things you should have, if even one _bit_ of that questioning went differently because your fucking _interrogator_ was your _rapist_ , then the A.D.A. needs to know. If you won't do it for your own sake, do it for the other subs they plan to call to the stand – who knows how many of _them_ he's previously hurt?"

Castiel sighed. Dean was right, of course. Castiel couldn't say where his reticence was coming from. Nothing he had to say would be news to Fitzgerald. They'd been over Castiel's personal history time and time again, recorded every event that Castiel could recall, gone through album after album of pictures showing Castiel in widely varied compromising positions.

 _Pity there were no pictures of Uriel in the album, this entire debacle could have been avoided._

For some reason, Castiel was reluctant to pick up the phone and explain what had happened the previous day. Steeling himself, Castiel quashed his silly objections and scrolled to Fitzgerald's entry in his contact list.

"ADA Fitzgerald, what's your emergency?" said Fitzgerald's chipper voice as he picked up after one ring.

"Good morning, Mr. Fitzgerald," Castiel said gravely.

"Ah, Mr. Novak! Just the man I needed to talk to – I was planning to call you last night but something came up," Fitzgerald replied. "What can I do you for this fine AM?"

"Um…well, thank you for your help leading up to yesterday and during the trial," Castiel procrastinated. Dean rolled his eyes and shot Castiel a stern look; Castiel quirked a faint, sheepish smile in return. "How do you think things went?"

"Awesome!" Fitzgerald enthused. "You did great and I think we really got the point across. What you said tied in excellently to the statements from the experts we had in before you; today we've got Dr. Ellicott coming to the stand." As Fitzgerald spoke, Castiel's tension racheted up, his nerves thrilling. "We've got some analysts lined up who'll unpack what you say, make it _damn_ clear to the jury that no matter what you signed, you didn't agree to the treatment you were subjected to, and that a contract like the one Ms. Tapping used isn't legally binding no matter what mumbo-jumbo jargon it was written in. Also, we've got—"

"Uriel raped me," Castiel interrupted in a rush.

"Yes, I have that name on the list of unidentified attackers…" Fitzgerald trailed off uncertainly.

"Robert Wisdom," clarified Castiel, feeling sick. Dean spun the office chair around, settled to his knees before Castiel and met his eyes with a clear, strong, steadying gaze. He mouthed something Castiel couldn't decipher. "The defense attorney. He's Uriel. I recognized him while I was on the stand."

There was a long pause.

"Oh." Fitzgerald's tone was unreadable.

"I saw him there, and I…I didn't know what to do!" Castiel explained, desperate to exculpate himself though he couldn't have explained why he felt _guilty_ about the admission. "Was I allowed to say something? Should I have told the judge?"

"Are you…uh…are you sure you want to tell me that?" said Fitzgerald delicately.

"What?" Castiel was stunned. "Should I…should I not have…I don't…"

"Hypothetically," Fitzgerald explained, " _if_ Mr. Wisdom stood accused of having committed this crime against your person, he'd be disqualified from serving as an attorney on the case. He might even be liable for prosecution. In the immediate, we would have to tell Judge Mills and she would declare an immediate mistrial."

An unpleasant chill of suspicion traced icy fingers down Castiel's spine. Desperate for courage, he met Dean's eyes. Dean reached out and settled his hands on Castiel's thighs, flesh hot and solid even though the fabric of Castiel's pants. Soothing touches followed as Dean rubbed gently along Castiel's legs. "What would a mistrial entail?"

"We'd start over from scratch," said Fitzgerald. "Well, not quite from scratch – we've got all the witnesses and depositions and everything done already – but the defense would need to hire a new lawyer, an entirely new jury would be selected, the trial would restart from day one. Everyone would have to come to the stand again, everyone would have to testify again, all that jazz." There was an expectant pause, and when Castiel said nothing, unable to find words over the buzzing of his ears and nausea turning his stomach, Fitzgerald added, "it'd take months." A wounded sound burst unbidden from Castiel's lips. Dean's eyes widened in alarm. "I know you've wanted to hurry this along and get it over with, but if I learned that such a crime had taken place it'd be unethical for me not to step forward with that information. So you can see why I'm asking if you're absolutely sure."

"Yes, I…I can see that…" Castiel fished for an appropriate response but he could find none.

"Supposing Mr. Wisdom is Uriel, did the thing you're talking about happen in Illinois?" Fitzgerald asked.

"Yes…why?"

"Chances are the statute of limitations has expired," said Fitzgerald. "You've got two years for assault, ten years for rape, three years for kidnapping, two years for false imprisonment…you see the problem?" Castiel nodded, realized how absurd that was, and murmured his assent. "So, you can accuse him and get him off the case; Ms. Tapping and Mr. Adler will hire a new lawyer, there will likely be no negative consequences for Mr. Wisdom, and the mistrial means we'll get this merry-go-round running from the beginning all over again. You'll have to return to Dallas, testify again, work with a new set of jurors, maybe even end up with a different judge who may not be as sympathetic to the idea of allowing the testimony about Naomi's past crimes in despite their potentially prejudicial nature – you get the idea."

"I do." When Fitzgerald had first explained to Castiel, ages ago, that Naomi could no longer be prosecuted for _any_ of the crimes she'd committed against Castiel in Illinois, Castiel had been stunned and Dean had been furious. Whether under Illinois law or Texas law, the statute of limitations was past. However, false imprisonment at the Sandover building was still illegal and could potentially carry a steep penalty; the key, Fitzgerald and Alastair said, was to make sure the jury understood that though the duration of Castiel's imprisonment was brief, he had reason to fear much more and that due to his shared history with Naomi his and Dean's reactions were reasonable.

"So, is Mr. Wisdom the unidentified _Uriel_ who was involved in Ms. Tapping's crimes?" Fitzgerald said leadingly.

"No…I…I'm not sure," Castiel managed, "perhaps I should think about it longer." Dean looked outraged; Castiel wondered how much of Fitzgerald's side of the conversation Dean was able to hear. "Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald."

"It's no problem," Fitzgerald said kindly, "now, a few things. First, I will have to speak with the other victims to see if any of them recall or recognize Uriel. If their experiences match yours, I will have to speak to Judge Mills. Second, you are welcome to, uh, figure out what happened to you at any time before the final verdict. If we had any chance to prosecute and incarcerate him, I'd be giving you very different advice. Third, I appreciate how much more difficult this must have made yesterday for you. I'm sorry you went through that, but you hit it out of the park. Don't worry. You did fantastic. Even Mr. Rolston was impressed, and he's a tough nut to crack. And remember, even if she's acquitted in Texas, Mr. Talley is prepared to bring his case before the courts in Illinois. We've got her, Mr. Novak." Fitzgerald's confidence was infectious. Despite his reservations, Castiel found himself nodding agreement. The anger clouding Dean's face eased slightly and Castiel offered him a faint smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald," Castiel said. "I appreciate all you've done for me and the other…victims…of Ms. Tapping's predilections. Please do keep me in the loop, if you're able."

"Absolutely," said Fitzgerald. "Talk to ya, Mr. Novak."

The line went dead.

"I heard everything," Dean said quietly as Castiel, with slow deliberation, set his phone aside. "Man, does he talk loud."

"Thank you for not interjecting," Castiel replied.

"Not gonna lie, it wasn't easy to keep my pie hole shut," Dean managed a cold smile. "I kinda want to tear the lot of them limb from limb, and it makes me _furious_ that after all that shit, the law says that because you didn't speak up immediately you lost opportunity to see them busted."

"Do you think I made the right decision?" Uncertainty colored Castiel's voice. "About Uriel?" He wasn't sure if he wanted permission, justification, or merely comfort. Sorting through it all would likely take hours with Dr. Ellicott. Fortunately, he had the opportunity. Since the doctor had come to Texas for the trial anyway, he and Castiel would be meeting in person for the first time the next day.

"Do _you_ think you made the right decision?"

"I don't know." Castiel broke eye contact with Dean to stare out the window. The sky was crystal clear, blue as the ocean, stretching out empty to the farthest horizon. _I wish none of this had ever happened. But if it hadn't, I'd not have met Dean. He's worth it to me. He is._ "At least I've got some time to think it over. My decision isn't set in stone."

"No, it's not. You kicked it in the ass yesterday, Cas, and today, too. It's your call; I'll support you whatever you decide."

 _My God, he is_ so _worth it to me._

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel gave Dean a radiant, toothy smile and got a shy one in return. "Meeting you is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Aw man, Cas, you can't just go and say shit like that…"

"I can and I will, as often as I must until you believe me without hesitation or reservation."

"…okay. That'd be okay. You do that."

"I love you, Dean."

"I fuckin' love your pain in the ass too, Castiel."

 _If that's how he has to say it to be comfortable, that's okay. It'll get easier for him with time. It'll get easier for both of us._

* * *

The lobby of the Omni was quiet, the few people around scattered in small groups in the seating areas scattered around the large space. Dean was late. Castiel tried not to worry but he couldn't help it. In a few days, it would be Dean's turn to testify at the trial. No one really wanted Dean on the stand but Fitzgerald had said that if the prosecution didn't call Dean, the defense absolutely would, and they would spin Dean's assault on Adler and his lie about being responsible for the assault on Naomi as a way to punch holes in the prosecution's description of the sequence of events. Rather than risk that, Fitzgerald would bring Dean to the stand himself and make sure that the jury knew that the State felt they had nothing to hide. Towards that end, Dean was meeting with Alastair one final time.

In light of Castiel's run in with Alastair days before, it was impossible not to be concerned for the worst.

 _What if Dean and Alastair fought? What if Alastair hurt Dean? What if Dean tried to defend me? What if – what if – what if…_

There were plenty of other reasons Dean might be late. Maybe the traffic was bad. Maybe he'd waited until the trial closed for the day so that he could talk to Fitzgerald as well – or instead. Maybe he'd gotten a last minute photo shoot and scooted off to earn a little money during his time in Dallas. There were all kinds of reasons Dean might be late.

None of them explained why Dean hadn't texted, though.

One of the doors to the lobby slammed open hard and the rush of air into the lobby brought a burst of hot air and noise. Startled, Castiel looked up and out through the tinted glass doors. A horde of people made a seething mass that he hadn't noticed previously, too lost in his own thoughts. Some bore cameras, other microphones, others pads or back-lit tablets. The media had found where they were staying. Fantastic. Thus far, Castiel had been spared their attention except when he went to the courthouse. Though he'd made an effort to stay away from coverage of the case, his parents mentioned every phone call, with evident concern, that they'd learned this or that disturbing detail from this or that tabloid or television show, and _why hadn't Castiel ever told them what he'd been through_? He had no good answer beyond that he hadn't wanted them to know, which he couldn't admit without causing them to feel bad that they knew _now_ , so he apologized and otherwise kept silent. The group of people seethed and roiled, some growing loud enough that he could hear them shouting through the doors, and Castiel caught a glimpse of a flannel shirt and spiked brown hair.

On his feet before he could think through a plan, Castiel hurried past the reception desk, dark and dazzling and modern, and out the revolving door in the sweltering heat of late afternoon.

"Hey!" he shouted. Only a couple of people turned his way, a quick flick of the head that turned into a shocked double-take when they realized who he was. " _Hey_!"

"—it's Mr. Shurley—"

"—Mr. Novak—"

"—of your relationship with—"

"—the Winchesters say—"

"—call your parents to the stand?"

"Have you read—"

"—estranged—"

The milling mass of people seemed unsure if they should continue to badger Dean or if they should confront Castiel; on the sidelines, a helpless valet gave him a sympathetic look. Taking advantage of a break in the crowd, Castiel took two aggressive steps forward, grabbed Dean's hand, and hauled him out of the middle of the mob. The valet held the door open for them and they escaped into the calm security of the lobby. Hotel staff had been firm in their stand that the media wasn't welcome inside the building – an important part of why Dean and Castiel had decided to stay there again. The door slammed behind them.

"Fucking sons of _bitches_ ," Dean snarled. There was no levity in his tone, no understanding, no sympathy, no forgiveness for the press' intrusion. His face was red, his lips set so stiffly that they'd gone pale by contrast, and his eyes were cold. Castiel had never seen him so angry. "Isn't there a damn fucking thing this _fucking_ hotel can do about those _fucking_ vultures stooped outside their _fucking_ entrance?" He shouted loud enough that his words resounded through the lobby. Heads turned towards them from every direction, some shocked, some scandalized, some angry. A rotund woman in a fancy dress gave them a scathing glare as she put her hands over the ears of a child scarce tall enough to reach her waist. "I don't give a flying fuck about your fucking kid, I—"

"Dean, you have to calm down," Castiel interrupted urgently, eying the reactions of those around them. The hotel staff at the reception desk had their heads together for a quick conference, gazes flicking towards Castiel and Dean every few seconds as they talked hurriedly. "If we get kicked out of the hotel, who knows where else we'll find that's willing to have security keep the reporters at bay?"

"Fuck that shit," Dean's voice trembled with his rage. "Do you know what those fucking douche nozzles are saying about me? _Do you_?"

"Nothing that's true, I'm sure." It was difficult to keep his cool in the face of Dean's temper. On the rare occasions that Naomi grew furious, it didn't matter who was actually responsible for her temper; inevitably, she took it out on Castiel. _Dean is not Naomi. Dean is not Naomi. Dean is not Naomi. Dean is not…_ At least Castiel believed that now, without reservation, but it didn't make it easier to confront his dom and try to be the voice of reason. "Come on, let's get up to the room."

"No – no, I was going to take you out to dinner tonight and I'll be fucked if I'm gonna let some asswipes take that away from us, I—"

A manager broke from the group at the desk, coming towards them with a determined look on her face. Castiel shot her a tense smile and held up an arresting hand that did nothing to slow her approach towards them.

"It's _fine_ ," Castiel said, grabbing Dean's arm and urging him towards the elevators. "Come on, let's get to the room. We'll take a few minutes, talk this through, you can throw some pillows or something if you want, and I'll see if the valet service can bring your car around to the back entrance, where the media won't pester us."

"But—"

"Making a public scene is not the way to convince the public that you are not dangerously volatile," Castiel interrupted, making another ineffective effort to wave the manager away as he dragged Dean across the lobby. "I know you're angry and you have every right to be, but _not here_."

"Fine," Dean muttered, deflating. "You're fuckin' right, of course. It's just—"

"Two minutes," Castiel cut him off again. "Wait until we're in the room."

Castiel pounded the button for the elevator. One of the sets of doors slid silently opened and Dean managed enough initiative to lead the way so that Castiel didn't have to force him. Glancing back, he saw the staff woman stop and give an approving nod before turning towards the offended mother, hands raised to soothe ruffled feathers.

"They talked to my fucking parents," Dean muttered. Shocked, Castiel schooled his face to sympathy, lips down turned, eyes wide, and put a reassuring hand on Dean's waist. Dean refused to look at him. "Alastair showed me the article, 'cause he's a son of a bitch and got a rise out of how pissed it made me." He huffed out a breath and ran his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry I lost my temper out there."

"It's okay, Dean," said Castiel. The elevator chimed a pleasant note and the doors opened with a whoosh. The penthouse suite had no entry foyer; the elevator opened directly on to the locked door to the room. Dean groped in his pocket, pulled out the key, and let them in. The main room served as a combination dining room and living room; the lights turned on as they entered, casting a golden glow over the sleek, modern furniture and white walls. Dean freed himself from Castiel's grip and stalked across the room to the leather couches, throwing himself down onto the cushions with a muffled _whump_.

"It's really fucking not okay," Dean grumbled as Castiel followed hesitantly after.

"May I read the interview with your parents?" Castiel asked.

There was a long pause.

"Sure." Dean sounded defeated in a way that made Castiel's heart ache. It wasn't like Dean to be downtrodden. It felt _wrong_. "Why the fuck not. Alastair'd probably find a way to get it to you anyway. Rather you get it from me." Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, Dean poked at the screen for a minute and then passed it to Castiel. "Have at."

 _BDSM CULT BREAKTHROUGH: THE TRUE STORY OF DEAN WINCHESTER!_ read the bold headline on the webpage for the National Inquirer. _Parents of a Sadist Tell All!_ _Never before revealed details about: The pleasure he got from his victim's pain! His addiction to blood! His time as the protégé of lawyer for the prosecution Alastair Rolston! BONUS: is Castiel Novak his newest perverted sex slave? Shocking pictures of Novak's courthouse reveal will make you sick!_

Clicking through the link to the first article, about the interview with Dean's parents, Castiel was taken to a large image of an attractive middle-aged couple: a woman in a white blouse with long, curly blonde hair leaned against a broad-shouldered, stern-looking scruffy man with a short-trimmed beard peppered with silver. Accompanying descriptive text read:

 _In this Enquirer EXCLUSIVE Mary and John Winchester describe the chilling events that led them to the awful decision to disown their OWN SON, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester and his supposed-boyfriend, likely sex slave Castiel Novak are at the center of the BDSM SEX SCANDAL that is ROCKING Illinois Urbana-Champaign AND Dallas. The Dallas District Attorney has tried to obscure the awful truth: that their STAR WITNESS enjoyed the sadism of his dominatrix and begged to be mistreated. Mary and John Winchester REVEAL for the FIRST TIME what their son is REALLY LIKE. In further coverage, we will ask the question: can Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak's ALLEGATIONS be taken seriously?_

An arrow pointed off screen; Castiel flicked it and the page scrolled to a second image. Mary and John Winchester were unmistakable though years younger, both wearing cheesy holiday sweaters and broad grins in a staged photograph. Mary had her hand on the shoulder of young man with bowl-cut hair that curled around his ears and draped over his forehead who was posed between the two adults. The boy wore the forced smile of one told to say cheese for the camera. Beside him stood Dean: slim, youth softening his features, hair trimmed short, wearing a sweater that said _Ho Ho Ho_ and looking like he wanted to murder whoever was taking the photograph.

 _Dean Winchester was a troubled youth, the Winchesters revealed in a series of interviews. These photographs shared with the Enquirer give you, our VALUED READERS, an exclusive glimpse into a YOUNG, TROUBLED MIND. School officials confirm that Dean Winchester's grades were POOR, that he PICKED FIGHTS with other students, and that he was known for his DRUNKEN ADVANCES on unsuspecting young woman at ILLICIT PARTIES where alcohol and drugs were FREELY AVAILABLE to the UNDERAGE attendees._

The next image showed a young woman with a pleasingly round face and long, dark brown hair that curled about her cheeks and draped over her shoulders. Despite a broad smile, her eyes were cold and distant.

 _Margaret Masters was a frequent attendee at and host of these parties. Little did she know that her relationship with Dean Winchester set her on a troubled path that led directly to her DEATH at the age of 22._

A photograph, old and grainy, showed a bedroom sloppy and disheveled as only a teenager's room could be. Large posters for Led Zeppelin and AC/DC papered every inch of the walls, a desk was stacked high with disordered papers and textbooks, CDs and cassette tapes haphazardly littered every the bedframe, the floor and the desk chair, but the focus of the picture was the unmade bed. Large splotches of dulled, dark red showed were someone had bled extensively onto the once white sheets. The cut, frayed ends of thick ropes were yet tied to the headboard.

" _We always worried about Dean but we never thought he'd turn to violence!" Mary Winchester weeps as she tells Enquirer reporter REBECCA ROSEN about the TRAGIC HISTORY of her TROUBLED SON. "By the time we found Margaret there was blood everywhere. I couldn't believe that our darling boy could do that to another person. If our son Sam hadn't witnessed it, I might have doubted, but he saw it all! Dean was smeared in blood, cutting Margaret and laughing as she screamed. It was awful, so awful. Poor sweet helpless child! If I'd known what Dean would later do to her, I'd never have let her leave the house."_

Alastair didn't look like he'd changed by a single hair in the next picture. He was still sallow, thin faced, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. With his head lowered at an angle there was something brooding and terrifying about the dark shadows cast over his eyes.

 _According to multiple sources uncovered by our EXPERT INVESTIGATORS, after Mr. and Mrs. Winchester expelled Dean from their home, he absconded with his young girlfriend to the home of his mentor, lawyer Alastair Rolston. Two years later, Margaret Masters DIED in mysterious circumstances. Manslaughter charges were brought against Rolston and Winchester but they were ACQUITTED of any wrong doing thanks to Rolston's LEGAL SHENANIGANS. To this day there has been no justice in the Masters case and Rolston and Winchester have walked as FREE MEN despite their OBVIOUS INVOLVEMENT in the events leading to her death. No secret has been made that Alastair Rolston is himself a SADIST which begs the question: WHO should be PROSECUTED in the Dallas case?_

Naomi and Adler stood together, dressed in fancy suits, clutching flutes of Champaign and smiling broadly. They looked utterly harmless in a way that made Castiel's stomach twist.

 _Naomi Tapping and Zachariah Adler stand accused of the RAPE, ASSAULT, KIDNAPPING, and UNLAWFUL IMPRISONMENT of Castiel Novak, Jake Talley, Ava Wilson, and Andrew Gallagher._

The next photograph made Castiel grimace and wince; it showed himself with a simpering, fawning expression gazing up at a grimly scowling Dean with obvious devotion. Castiel had no idea guess when the offending image had been taken, but judging by their appearances it must be recent. Embedded beneath it was another shot, a small close up of Alastair and Dean scowling at each other conspiratorially. The realization that paparazzi must be following them to obtain such shots left Castiel numb.

 _Who are the real victims in this case? Who are the real criminals?_

The paper asked the two questions in a large font in an offensively bright shade of yellow. The panoply of images they'd given left no doubt what message the article was _trying_ to send. One final picture showed John and Mary Winchester; a young man stood between them, the boy of the previous family shot all grown up. Both parents had arms curled around his shoulders; shaggy hair peaked out from beneath a graduation cap, the tassels of which blew haphazardly across his face as a gown hugged one of his legs, caught forever mid-sway.

" _We only have one son," John Winchester tells Ms. Rosen. "And we're damn proud of him."_

" _Dean's name will never be spoken in this house again." Mary Winchester's relief is evident. "Our Sam is a perfect angel. He's a child his parents can be proud of."_

With a pained, sympathetic frown, Castiel looked up to where Dean yet lay on the couch. He'd shifted while Castiel had been reading: placed a hand over his eyes, lifted his knees so he could rest his feet on one of the arm rests, and his frown incised deep lines around his mouth.

"Maybe we should order dinner in tonight," Castiel suggested tentatively.

"That'd probably be for the best," agreed Dean, exhausted.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." Approaching the couch, Castiel dropped to his knees next to it and waited patiently for Dean to acknowledge him.

"It's okay, I guess. I knew they hated me. They're as vanilla as fucking ice cream or some shit. When dad gave me the whole birds and the bees spiel when I was 16 he made it clear he thought fucking doggy style was risqué. Nothing has changed. I just wish..." he huffed out a breath. Lifting his hand from his forehead, Dean took in Castiel beside him and dropped the hand onto Castiel's shoulder. "It'd be nice if Sammy didn't hate me, too. But I guess it was inevitable."

"You don't know that, Dean," Castiel disagreed. "He wasn't interviewed in this article. I'm sure they tried to contact him, though. If they didn't quote him, maybe he didn't say something bad. If you wanted to, I bet we could find him. There can't be _that_ many people named Sam Winchester in the country."

Dean rolled onto his shoulder, shifted his hand to Castiel's cheek and brushed a gentle kiss over his lips. Castiel leaned in, ready for a second kiss, but instead Dean dropped his head onto Castiel's shoulder instead. "After all the shit you've been through I don't know how you're such a fricken optimist but damn am I glad you are. This BS would drive me batshit if not for you, Cas."

"None of this would have happened to you if not for me," Castiel pointed out.

"Eh, bull, I'd have found some other way to fuck things up." The hand on Castiel's cheek dropped to his side and kneaded the flesh pleasantly. "No. I shouldn't…Dr. Barnes would fuck me up if she heard me talkin' like that. Sorry. It's just the stress, ya know?"

"You've got an appointment with her tomorrow, right?"

"Yep."

"Good. We're going to get through this, Dean."

"I know we will, Cas. I know."

* * *

Endnote: Note that I've amended my estimate of the length of this story from 5 chapters to 7; based on current outline I'd guess it's going to be at least 50k words, maybe more.

I will be working on the next few days on a Writing Prompt Wednesday story instead of the next chapter of this, and then I will be on vacation for a week so there's a decent chance I won't get another chapter of this posted for at least a week and a half. Sorry about the delay, folks! Hope this long chapter makes up for that somewhat...


	4. Chapter 4

Ugh, I'm so so sorry it's taken me so long to get this new chapter up. We were away for a week, and by the time we got back my wife and the baby were sick. Nursing them ate all my energy for a few days, and then I got sick, and what with one thing or another it's been about all I could do to function the past week. Further complicating things, I got a promotion at work - I usually write at work - and said promotion involves a bunch of work that needs to get done, so my writing time got demolished by my job. Since it pays the bills...well, it has to come first, no matter how much I'd rather be writing.

But, here we are. I'm going to try to put my head down and get the rest of this story finished over the next few weeks. All my regulars know by now that I'm shit at estimating story length (...I originally thought this story was going to be 30k words, hahaha) but I'd guess I've got 20k to 30k words left to go, probably three more chapters. (maybe four, just based on the scenes I've got planned and how I suspect I'll have to break things up).

Home stretch, folks!

* * *

"Okay – okay, I'm ready," Dean huffed, swung his arms at his side, did a couple quick half-squats as if gearing himself up for an athletic event.

"Are you sure, Dean?" Castiel asked gravely. "We planned this scene for this afternoon with the understanding that giving your testimony would be difficult and unwinding afterwards critical, but if you are not up for it, I will not hold it against you. We will find some other means of helping recover your equilibrium."

Based on what little Dean had said when he'd returned to their hotel room, his time on the stand was brief and brutal. He said that Wisdom had completely destroyed his credibility. Charlie and Gilda had texted Castiel to say that Dean had done fantastically, though it would have been better if he'd held his temper. Castiel suspected the truth of Dean's performance was somewhere in the middle of the two assessments but he couldn't bring himself to call Fitzgerald, much less Alastair, to see what they thought. He had to trust the two lawyers; easy in the first case, nearly impossible in the latter. Any damage done, surely they could salvage.

"No," Dean puffed out a series of quick, controlled breaths. "No, I'm good. My equilibrium is fuckin' fine, it's my temper that's shot. This is exactly what I need. _You_ are exactly what – who – I need. You good to go? For _everything_ we discussed?"

Castiel nodded. Dean quirked an expressive eyebrow at him and frowned.

"Yes, sir, I'm ready," Castiel said, answering the challenge in Dean's look.

There was a pause during which Dean's entire demeanor shifted. Tension lines eased from his face, his troubled moue gave way to a look of stern authority, he rolled his shoulders and settled them back in a posture relaxed yet powerful.

"Get on the bed, Cas, on your knees, ankles together, ass resting on your heels," Dean commanded. Before the start of today's scene, while Dean was at the courthouse, Castiel had been instructed to prepare the living room: shift the couches around to clear a wide space, stack all the tables together so that they made a decent sized platform in the middle, drag the bed mattress from the bedroom, rest it atop the tables, bring every lamp from the entire hotel suite to the area and make sure each one was lit. Anxiety had kept Castiel at the task until the room looked nice in the new arrangement. "I want your arms at ease at your sides and your eyes closed. Wait there and take steady breaths while I prepare everything."

The plan for the day was to do a photoshoot. Dean had been concerned about Castiel's comfort level, so had run a few things by him. Without knowing the details, Castiel was aware that he would be blindfolded and gagged, that anal play would be involved, that he would be tied and cut and that Dean would pause to take photographs. As usual, if Castiel misbehaved or disobeyed an order, there would be consequences. He suspected they'd be worse than usual, expected that, after the stress of the last day, the last few days, Dean would be rough with him. He longed for Dean's harsh dominance as he'd once longed for a hit of meth or a shot of Everclear.

 _As I once longed for Naomi?_

Castiel pushed the thought away. It had no place here, now. She had no place here, not in his relationship with Dean, not in Castiel's life, nowhere. She wasn't no one, she wasn't nothing, as Castiel had once optimistically claimed, but she was his _past_ and had no claim to any portion of his present or future. Rustles, rattles, clatters and clunks spoke to Dean moving about the room but Castiel tuned the sound out, prevented himself from attempting to analyze and ascribe meaning to them. He didn't want to know what Dean was doing. His role was to submit, to follow Dean's orders to the letter, to focus on his own mental state and relaxation. His role was to be a manikin, a perfect doll for his dom, and let Dean exact his will.

Cloth brushed Castiel's face unexpectedly, the high-quality mattress giving no warning that Dean had come up behind him. With deft movements, Dean tied the blindfold in place.

"Open wide," Dean instructed. Obeying, Castiel spread his lips and teeth and Dean wedged a thick rope gag between his teeth and tied it so tightly that Castiel's jaw ached immediately. Lengths of hemp dug into his gums and loose tendrils tickled the roof of his rapidly drying mouth with each inhalation. "When it hurts, you bite down on that, not your tongue. Do you understand?" Castiel gave a quick nod, the rope tying the gag in place abrading the back of his head. Something heavy came to rest on Castiel's neck; Dean snugged it tight – it must be a collar – then tighter still, holding it taut until Castiel wheezed for breath and bright light from nowhere burst like firecrackers across his vision. Castiel was on the verge of tapping out before Dean eased the collar looser and did the heavy metal clasp, a cold weight resting against Castiel's skin. There was a click and the weight increased as Dean affixed something to the collar and cloth slapped against his back: a leash.

"Hand," commanded Dean. Hesitantly, Castiel held out one hand. Dean seized it. "I expect _speed_ and _exact obedience_ today, Castiel. I will accept nothing less. If you buck my authority, you will regret it. If you do not follow orders, you will regret it. If you cannot be my good little pet, I will punish you until you learn how a pet is supposed to behave." A shudder shook trembling through Castiel's limbs. " _You will keep still_ ," Dean reprimanded harshly. Something was pressed into the hand that Dean had grabbed, Dean nudging at Castiel's fingers until he gripped it solidly, his finger against a button. "Click the button once if you understand and accept these terms of service."

Castiel clicked, hesitation gone. He trusted Dean implicitly.

"If you need to communicate distress, press the button. Otherwise, you will keep silent unless I order you otherwise. Now, reach behind yourself and spread your cheeks wide for me, pet."

Arousal buzzed through Castiel's body. Dean's authoritative approach, his aggression, was a significant aspect of what had initially drawn Castiel to him and it had been a long time, far too long, since it had been a feature of their sex life. Already, Castiel found himself lulled into thoughtless obedience by Dean's voice, eased by the knowledge that Dean had responsibility for Castiel, that he need do nothing other than behave himself. His cock bucked half-hard, thickened as Dean jammed a finger, shockingly cold with lube, straight into Castiel's hole. Shocked at the sudden, intimate touch, Castiel gasped and stiffened. An arm reached around to Castiel's front, fingers dug into his flesh, something sharp pierced his chest one, two, three, four times. The wounds close together – nails, Castiel thought, though it made no sense, no human had nails so sharp or so hard, Dean certainly didn't – and Dean growled in his ear, "you will be _silent_ and you will be _still_. Understand?" Even as Dean dug claws into Castiel's skin, his fingers worked deep in Castiel's body, stretching him roughly and quickly with little care for the months it'd been since Castiel had last been stretched and penetrated. Brushes against Castiel's prostate shot fire through his veins, caused his cock to spasm. Pleasure and pain twisted together within him, pushed Castiel outside himself, deep within himself, faster than he could ever recall a scene doing so before. He whimpered agreement with Dean's question; the nails scraped rough lines down his chest.

"I said _do you understand, boy_?" Wait, how was he supposed to respond? Not with the clicker – that was only for distress – and not vocally, because sound was forbidden him. The only possible answer was silence and ease, body language alone communicating that Castiel trusted Dean and was open to anything Dean wanted. With a controlled inhale, a slow exhale through his nose, Castiel kept quiet and relaxed back against the finger working deep within him.

"Good," Dean whispered huskily. "Just like that." Touch pressed hard on Castiel's prostate and flared brilliant heat through his body and leaked out with the blood snaking thin trails down his belly. "You be a good boy for me, Cas, or you'll pay the price." The bite against Castiel's chest eased, Dean drawing back to tease at Castiel's nipple. Metal, chill against the sensitive flesh, caught and snagged and teased the nipple to an aching nub as Dean's finger swiftly worked within him. A second finger joined the first, but only for a few quick thrusts. A short tug against Castiel's rim spread him wide. He was empty and exposed, achingly so, air blowing in to the deepest, most private recesses of his body, and then something solid shoved inside him. Dean wiggled the toy and placed it, curved, u-shaped, inside Castiel to rest on his prostate, outside to stimulate his perineum and testicles. The longer Dean worked at the toy, the more difficult it became to keep quiet; Dean ran it over Castiel's prostate insistently, repeatedly, flaring pleasure brighter and brighter. Sharp nails dug into Castiel's chest once more, driving him higher, scratching lines across his chest. He could picture the blood, picture the red lines that Dean carved into him, and Castiel strained to hold still.

"Just…have…to find…the right…spot," Dean murmured tauntingly. Castiel's arousal ratcheted up as he realized that Dean was intentionally testing him. _He wouldn't test me if he didn't think I could do it._ Where every nudge against him had flared the urge to move, self-control suddenly asserted itself and calmed his thoughts. Castiel breathed in, breathed out, and relaxed as Dean casually fucked him with the vibrator. Letting his mind drift, Castiel floated on a buoying wave of pleasure, focused on the grounding pain of the nails biting in to his skin and the leaking of his stiff cock. There was nothing but sensation, nothing but his body and how it felt. Unknown minutes passed, left Castiel so fuzzed out that he had no idea how long it was, no idea if Dean had spoken to him, all he knew was that he felt good, _everything_ felt good, and he was in control.

"Right about _there_ should do it," Dean interrupted Castiel's reverie. The toy jammed into Castiel's prostate and he bit down on the rope gag to keep from gasping and moving; the vibration kicked on an instant later but Castiel the ache in his jaw provided the perfect counter point. Castiel effortlessly reasserted his calm and he didn't flinch, didn't moan, didn't move. "That looks perfect. Good boy." Dean ruffled his hair, smearing lube among the strands, and Castiel preened silently, unmovingly, under his attentions.

 _I'm good for Dean._

"Arms up, Cas." Sinking back on his heels, allowing the vibration to fade to a dull buzz that kept him hard and leaking but didn't heighten his arousal, Castiel struggled to focus. His arms felt heavy, like he'd swum too much, like he was lying in bed on the verge of falling asleep. He forced himself to obey. Rope threaded around his middle, beneath his breasts, Dean's hands indifferent against his skin aside from the occasional scrape by a claw.

"I've been sayin' for ages how awesome you'd like bound and tied." Dean looped the rope over Castiel's shoulders, down his chest, over his throat. "Now I finally get to find out. Ain't doin' shibari today – this is good, old-fashioned 'merican style bondage – and all you gotta do is look pretty, pet. Think you can do that?" The buzzer was a solid, reassuring weight in Castiel's hand. He didn't press the button. Dean chuckled. "Right, ya gotta follow directions too, dontcha? Good – good. Arms down." Dean shifted the collar and leash, threaded the ropes through metal rings that Castiel felt for the first time as they came into contact with his skin. The vibration amplified and Castiel panted, heart rate picking up as the flicks of the sharpened nails grew more aggressive against his breasts and nipples. Every slight contact with Castiel's skin was tantalizing yet intense: the brush of course rope over flesh erotic, the tearing as the nails dug in fantastic, the rivulets of blood oozing down his skin chill. As the ropes tightened around Castiel's shoulders and chest, his breathing calmed again. Dean had him.

All Castiel had to do was be good for Dean.

"A complex tie, in this style, is just a bunch of simple ties worked together." As he worked, Dean spoke, his voice lulling Castiel further. Deep, graveled, gruff, Dean's words enveloped Castiel as surely as the smell of Dean's aftershave, the feel of Dean's hands, the ropes that served as surrogate for Dean's embrace. Lost in heat, Castiel struggled to maintain enough attention to respond should Dean require something of him. Entire sentences disappeared in the fog suffusing him.. "…harness, frames you so nice…color of the rope gettin' dyed by your blood…quivers when I cut you…" If not for the ropes, he'd float away, bob into the air like a balloon. A titter of amusement escaped him at the thought.

Sharp pain pierced through his euphoria as Dean cupped Castiel's breast in clawed fingers. "Arms up, boy!" Dean castigated sharply. Flinching, Castiel raised his arms at his side. "No, not like that. Bend at the elbow, hands up…" Confused, Castiel attempted to follow the directions. "Fuck it…just go limp, I'll pose you." A strong grip seized Castiel's left arm and positioned him so that his elbow was against his side, his hand up by his shoulder, palm facing out. "Do the other side the same – hold them there. Good." Once Castiel was situated as Dean wanted, Dean curled his fingers around Castiel's hands, dug the sharp nails in, forced Castiel's fingers apart. "Not gonna be able to move once I get you all trussed up." Dean's grip left, replaced by rope looped around Castiel's fingers.

Tugs and binds held Castiel increasingly immobile as Dean continued to speak. It felt unbelievably good, knowing that something so _simple_ was so pleasing to his dom. Castiel didn't think it'd ever been easier for him to be good. He'd never been bound like this, never been tied with only the tension of his own muscles pulling at rope to hold him still. Dean tied his hands back, joined by a length across his back that pinned his arms up and his elbows to his side. At every breath, Castiel's chest pushed against the harness, the tautness of the rope between his elbows increased and then decreased, bringing a twinge of pain when he inhaled deepest. Chasing the feeling, Castiel took deep breaths until he was so awash in oxygen that he was dizzy.

"… _pay attention_!" There was a jerk on the rope binding Castiel's elbows together; Castiel's body seized, the ropes constricted, the effect cascading to tighten the lengths around his chest. Castiel choked on his inhalation, teeth jamming painfully against the gag as the binding compressed his lungs, strained against his neck. "Shhh," a soothing hand ran down Castiel's biceps, "breathe, Cas; if you panic you'll make it worse." Ropes held the buzzer Castiel's palm,; he hadn't noticed when tied it there. "Click once quickly for green light, twice for yellow, sustained for red." Without hesitation, Castiel depressed the button for one quick buzz. He was fine. He was _great_. "Okay, take a moment anyway." Dean pressed close against Castiel's back, pressed ropes into his skin.

 _Those'll leave marks._

The idea sent a shiver down Castiel's spine; a second followed as Dean's lips brushed his ear. "Never seen you surrender this completely, it's fuckin' amazing, Cas. Love the way you trust me. I've been a bit rough with you – gonna keep bein' rough with you – and it's okay, dude, it's so fucking cool, that you lose yourself in this, but I need you to stay present enough that you can get out if you need to, 'kay? Can you do that for me?" Castiel nodded, gag digging into the corners of his mouth. "Good – so good for me, my very own good boy. Come on now, boy, I want to get a better look at you."

Taking up the leash, Dean tugged Castiel towards the edge of the bed. Scrambling, his legs tingling, the vibrator within him shifted, nudged his balls, and a groan burbled behind the gag. Instantly, there was a sharp slap to his ass.

"Silent, pet!"

A pull on the leash in the opposite direction knocked him off balance. Instinctively, Castiel tried to move his hands to catch his balance, but he couldn't; he pitched onto his face, even the gentle fall on to the mattress wedging the rope gag further into his mouth.

"Oh, Castiel, whatever am I going to do with you?" Dean sounded exasperated.

 _No, no – I have to do better, I have to—!_

Castiel tried to right himself but he couldn't, every way he pulled and jerked only made things worse. Vertigo disoriented him, ropes dug into his chest and sides and back and he couldn't get his balance, couldn't follow Dean's orders. Dean was disappointed in him and—

Heavy weight settled on him, pushed him down on the mattress. The gag in his mouth popped free, the blindfold was tugged from his eyes, hands gripped his shoulders tight, Dean's legs pinned Castiel's, and hair tickled at his skin as Dean's head came to rest between the ropes over Castiel's heart. The thud of blood being pumped through his veins was cacophonous, hoarse breaths rasped loud through his throat. He could barely hear Dean speak, faint as if he were a great distance. "I'm sorry, Cas, shit, I fuckin' ruin everything. I'm such a fuckin' idiot. I should know better than to say crap like that to you, it just came out. Can you breathe with me?"

"I didn't safe word," Castiel croaked. "I can keep going."

"You did, Cas," said Dean. "You still fricken are, in fact."

"I did?" Stunned, Castiel tried to loosen his grip on the buzzer but he couldn't and he couldn't remember why not. "I am?" A sound resolved, loud in his ears, and he realized Dean sounded so far away because the device was shrieking, Castiel's thumb pressed determinedly against the button.

 _Right, it's tied in place, I have to move my thumb to make it stop…_

Forcing his finger to move was shockingly difficult but Castiel managed it and pried his finger away from the button. The sudden silence that blanketed the room was eerie and disorienting. Breathing hard, Castiel stared at the top of Dean's head as Dean trembled over him.

 _There's no reason for him to be this upset about this._

"I'm alright," he whispered.

 _Whatever happened at the courthouse must have really shaken him._

"Cas, I—"

 _He needs this as much as I do._

"Please, Dean," Castiel begged.

 _He needs this more than I do._

"I've never continued a scene after my sub safe-worded," Dean said, shaking his head.

 _I'm fine._

"I didn't safe word, not intentionally, I just panicked," said Castiel.

 _He's done so much for me._

"That's kind of the definition of safe wording," Dean's wry words brought a smile to Castiel's face.

 _I can do this for him._

"I trust you and I love you and I promise I'm _fine_ ," Castiel replied. "I want to continue."

 _I will always be your good boy, my love._

There was a long pause. Castiel took advantage of Dean's delay, Dean's reticence, to restore his equilibrium. The vibrator yet buzzed in his ass, arousal thrummed through his system; relaxing against the ropes binding him brought peace as his breathing evened out. Dean was a solid, powerful weight above him. Lips brushed over his heart as Dean shifted.

"Green light?" Dean asked, fingers kneading ease and support into Castiel's tightly bound shoulders.

"Green light," Castiel agreed.

"Okay, pet," breathed Dean, "just this once we'll keep going." Teeth nipped at Castiel's nipple as Dean pulled away. Castiel gasped despite himself at the pain that spiked straight to his softening dick, thickening him once more. A slap resounded loud and tingling against his other breast. "I said _keep silent_." Catching his lip between his teeth, Castiel nodded frantically to show he understood – _wait, I was supposed be still too_ – and he stopped. Too late – Dean slapped him again and Castiel's back strained against the ropes tying his elbows together. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, keep silent, be good, and Dean waited, scowling, brow lowered to darken his eyes. Only when Castiel calmed did Dean replace the rope gag, wrap the blindfold back over his eyes, and take up the leash.

Sinking back into his role proved easier than Castiel expected. Dean tugged the leash and, with firm words and sharp yanks, led Castiel on a slow circuit of the room. They'd pause sometimes, Dean would position him, and then unknowable amounts of time would pass as Castiel stood, naked, however Dean wanted him. With the blindfold on, he had no sense of where Dean was or what Dean was doing; he might have been taking pictures or silently touching himself or off taking a shower or out of the building entirely. However, if he moved a muscle, Dean appeared as from nowhere and slapped his ass hard, jogging the vibrator against his prostate and dick, or dug the sharp nails into the flesh around his nipple, or drew lines that must be vibrant red on the pale flesh of Castiel's inner thigh. The punishment was more than adequate for Castiel to maintain an erection; he floated within the darkness, a bundle of sensations, growing increasingly desperate for sustained touch – be it intended to give pain or pleasure – and increasingly desperate to be inside Dean. That was the endgame. If he was good, if he behaved, they'd have sex. Castiel craved being inside Dean like he craved oxygen.

They'd explored the whole room, maybe the whole suite, the only sign of where they were the brush of carpet or polished wood or cold tile over Castiel's feet, before they returned to the rearranged living room. Dean nudged him and placed him until Castiel lay on his back on what he thought was the mattress, arms pinned at an angle just this side of painful, knees up, when rope – and _only_ rope – finally touched his skin again. Rough lengths bunched around his thighs, around his calves, binding his legs bent, holding him splayed wide open. The mild air of the room blew over his obscenely erect cock. Castiel ached for a brush of Dean's hand kindly over his flesh but there was no asking for it, no moving to force Dean's hand. Only locking the muscles of his shoulders kept Castiel from shuddering at the thought of the punishment he'd suffer if he violated his orders with the express purpose of taking touch that Dean hadn't freely offered.

 _He might leave the bindings on, he might leave me gagged, he might…_

Breath whistling raggedly around his gag, Castiel's heart skipped a beat and promptly began to race. He squeezed his eyes needlessly shut and schooled himself back to calm.

… _he might but he won't. Dean would never do that to me._

"You're doing great, Cas," Dean murmured reassuringly, running soothing palms down the length of Cas' torso. Touch abraded his scars, aggravated his new cuts, spawned a dull ache where he had been bruised and hit, and where Castiel was whole Dean's skin on his was bliss. The combination jerked through his body like an orgasm. All the air left his lungs in a rush, his cock bobbed and leaked onto his belly. Dean chuckled wickedly. "But you'd better behave."

 _Yes, sir_.

For a moment, Castiel was confused that the words wouldn't come; his teeth bit into the gag, jaw straining, before he remembered that he couldn't speak. Dean chuckled again and manhandled Castiel into an upright position. The cloth beneath his knees was rougher than the blankets had been but he couldn't identify why. Ropes dug into his thighs, his ankles, his wrists and fingers and waist and chest. With practiced efficiency, Dean tugged at the different bindings, making small adjustments – tightening some, loosening others – giving ease to ensure Castiel's comfort, increasing his restraint. His fingers tingled as blood rushed back into them, his chest strained against the bindings more than before, and Castiel lost himself once more in the rhythm of every breath, every touch, every brush of rope on skin. The ropes were the perfect tension, as secure and encompassing as an embrace, as confining as a prison, and Dean's adjustments were the perfect reminder that their scene was about _choice_ , that Dean cared about Castiel and wanted him to be safe. The ghost of Dean's touch against his skin burned hot through his veins, the vibrator switched to an intense, intermittent pulse, and Castiel didn't think he'd ever been so turned on by so little sexual contact.

"I've got you." Dean's voice was very far away, wrapping around Castiel, buoying him higher.

 _Dean's got me_.

"I'm going to take such good care of you." Tenderness suffused the words even as a hard pull on the leash knocked Castiel off balance.

 _Dean is going to take such good care of me._

Castiel had barely finished steadying himself when there was a hard slap on his ass. The vibrator shifted and bliss turned the blindfold gold. For a terrifying moment, he thought he'd come, but he slowly eased back into his pleasure-throttled body and found that he hadn't. He wanted to, though, _fuck_ did he want to.

"Be a good boy – a good pet – Castiel."

 _I'm a good boy. I'm a good pet._

A moan died in his throat; before he could fully repress the sound Dean spanked him again, hard. His body jerked at the stimulation, his cock dripped, his vision glowed once more.

"Fuck," muttered Dean. Castiel panted against his restraints, he couldn't help it, and hoped that Dean wouldn't punish him further, _prayed_ that Dean would punish him to within an inch of his life. God, that would feel amazing. Everything already felt amazing. Time ceased to mean anything, it might have been seconds or minutes or hours, and Castiel clung to a thin stream of reason as Dean whispered praises to him from a universe away.

"Beautiful boy…"

 _I'm beautiful for you._

"…so obedient…"

 _I can do as you tell me to._

"…so patient…"

 _I can wait for you._

"…so self-controlled…"

 _I have to be in control to be what you need, sir._

"Pretty as a picture."

 _I love being what you want me to be._

"And mine, all mine."

 _Yours, always yours and yours alone._

 _And you're mine._

Touch brushed over the skin of Castiel's shoulder and the vibrator switched to a setting that made it feel like Castiel was being pumped slowly and gently. Something cold and sharp pressed into his flesh, tugged at the remaining scabs from the last feather Dean had cut. Skin tore, agonizing pain blossomed and streamed through his body, and with a desperate gasp Castiel's back arched, his muscles tensed, he strained against his bindings and he came. Pleasure rolled him under as come splattered his thighs and joined the thin flow of blood down his stomach. Chest heaving, Castiel focused on getting his breathing under control, his body under control. He'd never come like that, _never_ broken like that, and shame beat at him increasingly as he fell from the glorious heights to which he had soared. The gag tore from his mouth, and he frantically tried to find words.

 _Wait I wasn't supposed to talk but I have to, I have to explain, I have to be good, have to be!_

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry, I—" He was hoarse, throat dry and words difficult to understand, but he find the wherewithal to work moisture into his mouth.

"Shh." Dean's hands curled around his shoulders, finding finger holds amidst the bindings. Dean's chest came to rest hot and obviously bare against Castiel's back. Sultry breath blew directly into his ear. "I've got you, you fucking perfect fucking pet. Fucking hell, that was…that was fucking amazing. There will be consequences, of course – I was really looking forward to riding that gorgeous dick of yours while you bled on my ropes – but shit, I'm almost glad you broke. You're so damn _beautiful_ when you shatter for me, Castiel."

They'd talked about this.

The thought flitted away, in and out of reach, and Castiel couldn't focus enough to figure out if he wanted to grasp it and examine it or let it drift away. He felt so heavy, so bound, yet still so _good_. Dean's cock rubbed against the cleft of his ass and thinned lube leaked from around the vibrator yet pushing him into overstimulation.

"Punish me, sir!"

"You sure, Cas?" Dean emphasized the question by rutting into him hard, a solid reminder of what they'd discussed, what Castiel had agreed to. Even if they hadn't discussed it, Castiel wouldn't have protested. He'd broken his orders, he'd come early – so early – and Dean could punish Castiel however he wished. He wanted to be punished. He wanted to be perfect for Dean.

"Please, sir, please!" Castiel would have strained back, held his ass up for Dean's use, had he been able to move. All he could manage was a wiggle against Dean's erection and doing that earned him another hard slap right over his hole. The toy slammed into his prostate and he jerked as the pleasure tipped into pain and scourged his body.

"Keep _still_ ," Dean snapped in his ear, and Castiel moaned pitifully. "But keep making pretty noises." He'd come and he should be spent but they weren't finished and the vibrator was still on and Dean was tugging on his rim and rubbing his fingers through the slickness he found there and Castiel's body thrummed with so much bliss and so much agony that he hovered on the verge of blacking out. This was rapture. This was the best he'd ever felt, _ever_ , good God he needed Dean _so badly_.

There was a wet sound, scarce audible over his own rough breathing, and then Castiel was spreading wider. Dean pressed his cock in alongside the vibrator and Castiel's mouth fell open, soundless, eyes rolling back in his head.

"Holy fucking hell," Dean whispered reverently as he eased into Castiel's body. "That's…that's fuckin' tight…and _hot_ …Jesus…Jesus, Cas…"

"Dean…!"

Fully seated, Dean didn't hesitate before rocking back, pressing in again, a shallow thrust. The toy pressed painfully hard into Castiel's prostate, Dean's thumb dug into the single cut he'd managed to make before Castiel lost his mind, and Castiel's thoughts blanked.

"What?" Dean held him close, huffing, picking up a quick rhythm. "What…can I do…for you…you fucking _angel_?"

"Cut me," Castiel pleaded. They had to finish the feathers, they _had_ to. "Please—" The word broke in a gasp as rapture coursed through him like a lightning strike and his cock dribbled. Dean groaned deep and thrust into him hard, hands grabbing at Castiel's slickening skin. "Oh…oh…oh my _God_ …" Dean's finger dug hard into the cut on Castiel's back, his other hand picking at the scrapes along his chest.

"Naughty," Dean breathed, pounding into him so hard that skin slapped loudly on skin, "very…very…naughty. What's my name?"

"Dean!" He was so stretched open, so full, so used and exposed and it was _glorious_. How could it be so glorious? He couldn't understand, he needed it to never end, he needed it to stop.

"Yes!" Dean crowed. Digging a hand into the rope binding Castiel's chest, he pulled hard. Castiel gasped again and coughed, struggling to draw enough air. "Who _owns_ you, Cas?"

"You do – you do sir, please… _please_!" Castiel wasn't sure what he was begging for. He felt so good it was agony, his spent cock twitching futilely, blood making trails down his skin, his prostate stimulated by the constant thrum of the toy and Dean's relentless cock. With a groan that sounded ripped out of him, Dean lost all self-control and thrust erratically, urgently into Castiel's body, already stretched so tightly that the burst of semen placed additional pressure on his insides. Whimpering and twitching, Castiel collapsed back against Dean as if he were the one who had climaxed, and despite his guttural noises and stuttering movements, Dean managed to catch and hold him.

"What is it, Cas? What do you need?"

"Dean, I…I…" he moaned brokenly. Reality was floating away; reality was grounding him so heavily he couldn't escape. "Help me, please, help me…"

"Shit," said Dean. Trembling overtook Castiel, his body pulsing in time to the toy wedged within him. Dean's cock pulled free of his ass with a slick of come and lube that trailed down Castiel's legs; Dean fumbled across the bed while still trying to hold Castiel up. With a triumphant yell, Dean found whatever he sought and a moment later the tension across Castiel's back went slack, his arms fell free, the rope untwined from his fingers. His legs were unbound next, the fibers ripping loudly, and Castiel tumbled to his side. Another couple quick swipes and he was free. Dean pulled away the blindfold, removed the vibrator from his hole, unclasped the collar, and immediately set to massaging blood into Castiel's pale fingers.

"I've got you, Cas, I've got you – scene is finished," Dean whispered, repeating the words over and over again. Everywhere Dean touched spurred more inexpressible pleasure. Castiel's mind clambered to come again but he _couldn't_ , it was far too soon for him to get hard. A sob burst from him at all the feeling searing every nerve in him simultaneously. Dean's fingers kneaded at the places where the rope had abraded his skin, spiking the pleasure with pain that did nothing to bring down Castiel's high. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

"Feels so…stop!" Dean gasped and jerked away; another sob escaped Castiel. "Stop – I just – I need a minute, I need to think and I can't, I can't!"

"I'm sorry," Dean pulled back further. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut against the hurt, frightened expression on his face. "Fuck, Cas, I'm—"

"Just _stop_ ," Castiel interrupted desperately. "I'm…I'm good, I just…calm, please?" The words came easier the more he produced, though he had no idea if Dean understood what he was attempting to communicate. The room fell abruptly silent and Castiel rolled into a tight ball on the mattress and forced control over his breathing. Even the brush of terrycloth against his skin was too much, but he quelled the feelings as best he could. His hands shook, pins and needles piercing him, trailing up his arms and through his legs, knees and ankles.

"Was that…" Dean swallowed audibly and continued, steady, calm as Castiel had requested. "Was anal not okay?"

Unscrunching his eyes, Castiel looked to Dean. Naked, he hovered nearby, hands outstretched towards Castiel but respecting the distance Castiel had demanded, expression concerned. _He's so perfect. He cares so much. He worries so much. He doesn't need to…_ Castiel broke into a smile. "It was great, Dean. Everything with you is _great_. I'm sorry I worried you. I...it felt so _good_ but there was no _outlet_." Dean's lips spread into a matching smile. "That was wonderful."

"Thank fricken God," Dean gushed explosively.

"Now, Dean, God isn't who grants you pleasure…" Dean's warm laughter washed over Castiel, the tension snapped, and everything was fine.

The evening had grown late. To the accompaniment of a steady stream of praise, Dean cleaned Castiel, massaged away the aches left from being bound so long, and promised to finish the feathers the next morning. Languid, exhausted, sated, Castiel sprawled bonelessly on the bed, still in the living room, and let Dean do as he would. His cock twitched, half-hard, against the bedspread.

"Cas…do you want to…?" Dean rolled Castiel onto his back and looked him up and down, expression unreadable. Castiel had no idea what he was offering or requesting, but it didn't matter. Anything Dean wanted would be fine. Anything at all.

"I'm yours," Castiel mumbled.

"Okay…um…I just wanted to…" Hesitantly, Dean reached out, wrapped his hand around Castiel's cock and stroked. A pathetic moan, hoarse from Castiel's earlier straining, leaked from him. Dean's eyes darkened with lust, breath catching. "This okay?"

"It's so okay," Castiel whispered fervently, arching his back against the bed, straining into Dean's hand as his cock thickened. Fatigue ate at his self-control, ate at instincts that suggested that he hold back, wait until they were in a scene, obey his dom. They were boyfriends _first_ , and if they wanted to have sex simply because they wanted to have sex, it didn't matter what had happened in their earlier scene.

 _And Dean says it's alright…_

… _no, no, that's wrong. I get to say if it's alright. This isn't a scene. He's not my dom right now. He's just Dean and I'm just Cas and if I want him, all I have to do is ask and trust him to express his desires._

"May I fuck you, Dean?" he asked. Dean started, laughed, broke into an easy grin.

"How are you so damn perfect all the damn time?" Dean's grip tightened, his dry stroke quickening over Castiel's burgeoning erection. Pleasure crashed into Castiel's exhaustion and dragged him further into lethargy.

" 'm not," the words slurred, Castiel was so tired. Dean started to interrupt, but Castiel pressed on. "Jus' per'ec' fer _you_ , 'n you're per'ec fer _me_."

"I have no idea what you just said," Dean confessed. Castiel wasn't sure either. The thought was gone. Straddling him, Dean slid easily down his dick – Castiel had no idea when Dean had prepped himself and didn't ask – leaned forward and painted Castiel's mouth with gentle kisses as Dean rode him into oblivion. Orgasm thrumming under his skin, Castiel fell asleep to the rolling of Dean's ass against his hips, the soft press of Dean's lips against his, the deep hum of Dean's voice as he spoke indistinct words that echoed in Castiel's head like solemn oaths, and the warmth of Dean's body close to his.

* * *

"Cas!" Gilda's sunny smile was always a welcome sight and Castiel's nerves instantly calmed. Dean was meeting with Alastair to debrief about Dean's testimony on the stand the previous day – whatever _that_ meant. If it was anything like Alastair's post-court conversation with Castiel, Dean was in for a rough day. When Castiel had expressed his concerns, though, Dean had given him a steely look and harshly informed Castiel that he could handle Alastair, tone and expression both immediately convincing Castiel that Dean could do nothing of the kind.

"Hello, Gilda." Castiel returned her smile and accepted her warm hug with a staid one. Casual physical intimacy with friends – casual physical intimacy with _anyone_ – was still new for him. He'd never had relationships that featured hugs or stray touches or simple affection. There was no avoiding tackle hugs when friends with Charlie.

"No Dean today?" she asked, surprised.

"Um…well…" Drawing away from her embrace, Castiel flushed and looked everywhere but at her. The downtown street was bustling, cars noisily driving people, a few pedestrians strolling past the businesses, the outdoor seating area of a restaurant making a noisy distraction off to his left. "He's meeting with Alastair."

"Am I reading between the lines that this excursion was planned specifically with his being unavailable in mind?" Gilda's brow knit with uncertainty and she frowned. "Is everything okay? If you need out—"

"No!" Castiel interrupted, looking up. Whatever his expression was shocked Gilda so much that she took a step back. "I'm sorry. No, not at all. I mean, yes, it was planned when he wasn't around, but not because I want to…I mean…" Her eyes widened with what he hoped was a glimmer of understanding but she said nothing. "How did you know?"

The comprehension vanished from her face. "Know what?"

"You…" he took a deep breath. He felt off today. Perhaps it was the intensity of the scene yesterday, the things he'd done with Dean that he'd never done before. Perhaps it was being on the receiving end of anal from a person, not a toy, for the first time since he left Naomi's, feel the unique soreness that only double penetration and hard thrusts of another body against his could produce. Perhaps it was coming in his sleep, which Dean assured him he'd done, as Dean had sweetly made love to him afterwards. Perhaps it was the dreams he'd had, peaceful and content, not a glimmer of fear or a trace of a nightmare. Perhaps it was the debriefing he and Dean had shared that morning, reiterating that nothing had happened the previous day that they hadn't both enthusiastically consented to, agreeing that the scene had been an unparalleled success. Perhaps it was the fresh cuts on his back oozing blood onto his bandages and pain through his body. Perhaps it was all of that, or none of it, but Castiel didn't feel himself. He felt emotional, weak, and the scariest part was that he liked it. He was happy. "I have a question but you are in no way obligated to answer. I've wondered…when we met last year, you told me that you'd once been in a bad relationship with a dom who mistreated you, and that Charlie was different. How did you _know_ Charlie was different?"

"You know Dean is different from Naomi, right?" she countered.

"Absolutely, without a doubt," Castiel said without the least hesitation. "But I don't…I mean…I think I want more from my relationship with Dean, but I can't…you and Charlie are so happy together. I was just wondering how you knew. You don't have to tell me."

"Are you hungry, Cas?" Gilda gestured towards the outdoor seating and Castiel calmly accepted the non sequitur, assuming it was her way of diverting his attention from a topic she didn't wish to discuss.

The restaurant was a pho place. After his time spent traveling the world, Castiel tended to avoid ethnic food in the US unless he knew the restaurant was good, but it was the nearest place to eat and he was a little peckish, though he hadn't noticed until she asked. At his nod, she led the way, crossing the street. They were quiet as the maître d' seated them, the weather mild enough as the lunch rush picked up that it was comfortable to sit outside. Castiel was glad of that; the seats inside had high backs that would apply pressure to his new-cut feathers, and while he loved the reminder of the enjoyment he and Dean had derived from the scarification, adored that Dean cared for him and respected him enough to heed his wishes as regarded his back, Castiel wanted to concentrate on his conversation with Gilda. A constant prickling of pain would be a niggling distraction. They took their seats and Castiel waited to see what conversation Gilda would segue into.

"Gerry was the last person you'd think would be an assertive dom." Gilda settled into the narrative as if she'd already begun her story and was resuming it somewhere in the middle. Not hungry enough to care about the menu, Castiel set it aside and listened, gratified that she'd decided to answer his question. "He…" The waitress interrupted them. "Um…apple chai bubble tea, please. And pho with beef, no scallions."

"Do you have pho nam?" Castiel asked. The waitress looked at him like he was an idiot. He wasn't sure if that was because she had no idea what he'd asked for or because she was judging him for not looking at the menu, or some other reason. After a brief staring contest, she rolled her eyes, opened the menu and pointed to the enormous header that said their specialty was pho nam. "I'll have that, please." He glanced quickly at the drink menu so as not to make an idiot of himself again. "Extra beef. And Thai iced bubble tea." With a single nod, the waitress left.

"He was…well, he was a loser," Gilda continued, smiling gently at the memory, but fear tightened her eyes. "I mean, I thought he was adorable or else I wouldn't have started the relationship, and at first everything was great. He was so nervous and shy and sweet. Our first couple scenes were practically vanilla…like, he ordered me into missionary position. And that was appropriate, I guess, we were both new to the scene, young and learning. We were exploring together. I don't know what changed. Maybe I was just too naïve to see the signs of what was to come. Either way, he was jealous and controlling. I wore a special necklace when we were doing scenes; only he could take it on and off. Increasingly, he simply wouldn't remove it and the scenes wouldn't end. If I disobeyed, his punishments grew increasingly harsh. While we were scening I wasn't permitted to speak freely, but he wouldn't remove the necklace. When I tried to bring up my concerns while wearing it he gagged me. Increasingly, I was forbidden from going out in public, and when we did he'd make me wear painful bondage gear beneath my clothing as a constant reminder of his power over me. He used his control to make me do things I didn't want to. It sounds ridiculous when I say it now – why didn't I just go to someone for help, right?"

"You heard what I said on the stand," said Castiel thickly. After everything he'd been through, it sickened him to think of the beautiful, gentle woman sitting before him being abused so severely. She didn't deserve it. _No one deserves to be treated the way we were treated – except perhaps those who treated us that way._ "I still don't know why I didn't leave sooner. Naomi forbade me contact with my family and friends but I still went to lecture every day, still TAed undergrad classes. There were ways I could have called for help and I just…didn't. Dr. Ellicott says that's part of the abuse – that we're conditioned to see it as something we deserved, that we didn't want to disappoint the person we loved, that we…" He trailed off, coloring, as the waitress returned with their bubble tea. He felt suddenly exposed, upsettingly aware of the diners around them. A woman to their left was reading the Dallas Morning News; there was an article about the trial on the front page. What if they'd published a picture of him? What if she or someone else recognized him? What if a passerby overheard their conversation and connected it to the _scandalous shocking BDSM trial_? Had that man's gaze lingered on them too long? Had that child's eyes narrowed in fear and disgust?

Gilda tilted her head, eyes shimmering liquid with concern, and Castiel gave himself a shake. _No one is listening. No one is looking. Even if they were, we've a right to be here, a right to be left in peace, a right to our own pasts. No one else has a right to our lives._

"We did what we had to do," he concluded lamely.

"Yes," she nodded, "I knew you'd understand. As I said, Gerry was a loser. While I was with him, he treated me as an even bigger loser, so that he could at least stand above someone. I wasn't allowed to have a job. Though he made little money, he had a security system set up on his house to keep me in and when he left he locked the door from the outside. At the time, I was so upset that he didn't trust me that I focused on trying to demonstrate how loyal I was, and that only made things worse. When he learned how far I was willing to debase myself…" She trailed off with a shudder. "Our only regular social gathering was a LARP – do you know what that is?" Castiel shook his head. "It stands for Live Action Role Playing. It's a game, like Dungeons and Dragons…" She trailed off at his blank look. "Basically, participants assume roles, dress up as the characters, and pretend to be them. Like theater, except there's no script. It's all improvisation. Together, the players tell a story and how the story guys, who wins and who loses, is determined by the things the players do. That's what Charlie and I sell at the front of the store: things for the LARP community, clothing and safe weapons and the like. The LARP was where I met Charlie. Gerry _hated_ her. Over time, she noticed the signs that I was being abused and ultimately stepped in and rescued me." Gilda's eyes went dreamy, her gaze skyward, her smile affectionate. "I think it was easier for me to know that Charlie was different because she directly intervened and helped me rebuild afterwards. I—"

"Pho nam double meat," the waitress interrupted obliviously, setting the bowl down before Castiel so hard that the broth sloshed onto the plastic table cloth. "Beef no scallions."

"Can I have…" Castiel trailed off, hand half-raised towards the waitress, but she was already gone again. He sighed, debated docking her tip, and decided not to. There were so many reasons she might be rude. Who was he to judge? At least she'd gotten their orders right.

"Charlie recognized my bondage wounds and asked if I was a sub," Gilda explained around spoonfuls of soup. "At first she didn't realize anything was amiss – you know how she is, she was so excited to meet someone else in the life that she gushed every time we spoke, it was adorable – but Gerry's BDSM practice was so unconventional that it didn't take her long to realize something was seriously wrong. We got to be friends and I started to question my situation based on what she told me. I snuck computer time unmonitored – it wasn't easy – and researched on my own, and everything I found independently corroborated what she'd told me. When Gerry put together how much influence she had over me, he forbade me from seeing her, and when that didn't deter her – again, you know how she is – he stopped taking me to LARP. That was the last straw. She mobilized her faction from the game and they stormed his house, hacked the security system, broke down the door, and rescued me. When Charlie sentenced him to the in-game stockades as punishment, he threatened to sue for the damages to his home and she countered by pointing out he'd kidnapped me and imprisoned me against my will. Underneath it all, he was a coward, and everyone had my back.

"One of our other friends offered me a place to stay, a third set me up with a job as a receptionist, and Charlie backed off. At first I was distressed: I really liked her and she'd been my Princess Charming and then…maybe she didn't want me? It took close to a year for me to work up the nerve to ask her on a date. She giggled for like two hours after that. Told me she'd wanted to ask me but after what I'd been through, she wanted to be sure I was comfortable. In retrospect I'm glad it happened like it did. I _would_ have gone out with her immediately, but the time apart gave me time to grow, helped me see what had gone wrong with Gerry, enabled me to really get to know her and make other friends, and gave the shine of new affection time to wear off. If we'd dated immediately, I think I would have made the same mistakes. Charlie wouldn't have let me, of course, but how much damage would we have done to our relationship trying to work through that?"

"Probably a lot," Castiel replied sadly, reflectively, though he knew her question was meant to be rhetorical. She shot him a sympathetic look around a mouthful of noodles. "That's basically what happened with Dean and I. Even though I had all those years in between leaving Naomi and meeting him, I didn't heal. I didn't even try to heal. I didn't realize any healing needed to be done, honestly. I'd internalized that things that went wrong were my fault to such an extent that even when I worked up the nerve to leave her, I took the need to do so as a sign of my own failures. If I'd been a better sub, wouldn't I have stayed? So when Dean and I started our relationship, we had to work through all of that, with the added challenge that I didn't realize I had anything to work through so I couldn't even warn him what my triggers were."

"It all comes down to trust." Gilda's sage words and knowing nod were only slightly ruined by the broth dribbling down her chin.

"Yes, it does."

"I don't think my experiences can inform yours very well, then; I trusted Charlie from the beginning." Castiel nodded absent agreement. There didn't seem to be much mirror between Gilda's relationship with Charlie and his with Dean, beyond that they both started out and learned the life with someone abusive. "The question you have to ask yourself is: do you trust Dean?"

The question hung in the air between them, tension unbroken despite an errant slurp as Castiel drank his soup.

His immediate, instinctual reply was _of course I trust Dean_. Years of skepticism of his own instincts kept him from saying that, though. Depending on when he'd been asked, he would have sworn he trusted Naomi as well. It had never crossed his mind that she was lying to him, using him, deliberately deceiving him, going out of her way to convince him that he was crazy. Naomi's manipulation of Castiel's schedules and time usage to convince him that only she could teach him to keep his life together was called gaslighting, so Dr. Ellicott had told him.

Dr. Ellicott didn't think that Dean was manipulating Castiel.

Castiel didn't think that Dean was manipulating him.

But what if he was wrong? He'd been wrong before and his misjudgment had proved catastrophic.

The flavorful broth, so enjoyable moments before, tasted like rancid, corrupted water as he took another sip but Castiel forced himself to swallow, grimacing at the bowl.

"Have you seen any coverage of the trial yesterday?" Gilda asked. Startled, Castiel looked up at her uncertainly. "I'd ask if Dean told you about it, but I know him – I'm sure he didn't."

"He didn't," Castiel agreed, "beyond indicating that he thought he'd done poorly, and I didn't look in to it."

"As you know, we were there," said Gilda. She picked at her bowl idly with a pair of chopsticks, finding the last few errant pieces of noodle and bean sprout floating in the broth. "Since you couldn't go, we figured it was the least we could do – same as we did for you last week. Dean was magnificent on the stand, almost as good as you were, and don't let him tell you otherwise. Despite Mr. Wisdom's attempts to discredit him, I doubt there was a single person in the courthouse who didn't leave convinced of two things: that Naomi hurt you as badly as one person can hurt another, and that Dean adores you. And I'm not saying this to pressure you or tell you that you _should_ care about him simply because he cares about you. That's nonsense. You don't owe anything to people who care about you. Reciprocation is something you choose to grant, not something required. I'm just…I'm not sure, sorry, I know I had a point…" She trailed off, chewing at her lip, stirring bubbles of fat around the top of her pho.

"I know he loves me," replied Castiel softly, pushing his bowl towards the center of the table to show that he was done with it. "And I love him." A warm feeling blossomed against a tightness in Castiel's chest that he hadn't even noticed forming. "Trust isn't the same thing as love. I'm scared, Gilda. I'm _always_ scared. That's Naomi's legacy, I guess. Dean isn't Naomi. I've never doubted _him_ , that's not the issue. I never doubted Naomi, either, though now I see her for what she is. There's this voice in my head that never stops, pointing out every flaw in my logic, every flaw in _me_. My doubt in _myself_ is at the root of all these problems. And I'm working on it. I'm on meds now. They help. Being with Dean also helps. Talking to Dr. Ellicott helps. Speaking with you and Charlie helps. But nothing _cures_ it. There is no cure. When old fears are laid to rest, new ones arise – what if Dean grows impatient with me or decides I'm too damaged? What if we lose the trial? And when that's settled, I'm sure some new concern will arise that seems just as dire, regardless of how severe it actually is. It never ends."

"Dean told the courtroom that the most difficult thing about being in a relationship with you was how crippling your self-doubt was," Gilda said. "It was a deliberate connection things you'd said, things your therapist had said – it's a pity you guys called Alastair, Fitzgerald is one hell of a lawyer, he didn't need the help – and with Dean they brought it all together, made it clear that Naomi was at the root of your issues. It'd seemed weird to me, ending the prosecution's case with Dean – not that I know much about these things – but after sitting in the courthouse yesterday, it made sense. There was a whole timeline to Fitzgerald's presentation: showing how Naomi was your past, how that hurt you and damaged you, how her behavior was flagrant abuse beyond the bounds of an acceptable relationship regardless of what contracts you signed, and he capped the presentation off by contrasting her behavior with Dean's, made it clear that Dean was your future. The questioning painted a picture for the jurors: what an unhealthy BDSM relationship looked like, contrasted with what a healthy one looked like. But – and this was my original point, now I remember – in the end it's up to you. Based on my own experience, my own relationships, my own exposure to BDSM in many forms, my own familiarity with Dean…what you've got now is good. However, you don't have to know yet. You don't ever have to know."

"I think I know," Castiel confessed. "I want to ask Dean to marry me." Fear clamped around his chest again, his happy affection for Dean struggling against the clench of self-condemnation. Gilda snorted a startled noise. "But what if Dean—"

"No!" she cut him off sharply. With an effort of will, he looked up, met her clear brown eyes. "Don't do that to yourself, Castiel. You know what you want, right?"

"…I think I do…"

"Just as you don't owe Dean anything, he doesn't owe you anything," Gilda said. "He is your dom but he doesn't control you, and you're his sub but that doesn't mean he has relinquished the choice to end things if he must. You know what you want," she repeated with emphasis. "That's the hardest part, and you've got it. All you can do now is tell him, clearly, just as you do when you're planning scenes before executing them. The sex part has always been easy for you, hasn't it? It's this emotional stuff you struggle with. Asking Dean to tie you up, cut you, whip you, that's a no-brainer. Asking him to do those things _even though he cares about you_ , asking him to do those things _because_ he cares about you – _that's_ what's hard. Well, Cas, all you can do is ask. Dean trusts you to express your limits, to say what you want and don't want. You have to trust him to share how he feels."

Castiel blinked.

 _Just like having sex last night after the scene._

The tight feeling around his chest vanished.

When Castiel had arrived in Dallas, Dean had yet been distant. Despite everything they'd talked about, everything they'd done together, Dean had never told Castiel about Alastair, never revealed his hurts, had never expressed affection for Castiel outside of the praise he heaped on Castiel during scenes. Praise felt good but it also felt rehearsed, scripted, a part of their sexplay done because Dean got off on saying nice things to him and Castiel got off on being hearing them said. Every word was true from Dean's perspective, Castiel was sure of that, but outside of a scene it was easy to doubt, easy to convince himself that Dean only thought Castiel perfect when he was obedient. Even their months as boyfriends hadn't dissipated that worry. They'd gotten to know each other, shared midnight Skype calls, watched movies together, talked about their days and their lives and their hopes and aspirations, but emotional intimacy had eluded them.

Over the past week and a half, that final barrier had crumbled.

Over the past week and a half, Dean had told Castiel about Alastair, told Castiel about his family, made it clear that should Castiel ask, Dean wouldn't hold back from him any longer. Dean had told Castiel that he loved him.

Over the past week and a half, Castiel had finally learned Dean well enough to trust him without reservation. _Dean_ had finally learned _Castiel_ well enough to trust him without reservation.

"Gilda," Castiel asked, confidence restored, demons quieted. "Would you go ring shopping with me?"

"Now?" The word came out rich and warm through Gilda's toothy smile. The waitress negligently tossed their bill on the table without a word.

"If you have the time…"

"Do you mind if we wait a little?" Disappointment settled on Castiel's shoulders. He wanted to do this now. He didn't want to wait. He wanted… "I'm just gonna call Charlie to come join us. She'll _kill me_ if she misses the chance to influence this decision." Gilda reached for her cell phone and the disappointment vanished as if it had never been.

Castiel was really going to do this.

Love coursed hot through his veins, no arousal, only affection and care and trust and security. Dean was gorgeous, but he was so much more than that. He was a beautiful _person_ , with a handsome personality, a lovely work ethic, a charming sense of humor, a stunning faith in the people around him. He was brusque and aggressive and sometimes spoke before he thought; he was kind and generous and self-sacrificing and humble.

More than once, Castiel had said he was in love with Naomi, believed himself in love with Naomi, but he'd never felt anything like this. Dean wasn't Naomi, and Castiel wasn't the same person he'd been when he was with Naomi. They'd each come a long way, alone and together, and Castiel marveled to think how much more they might grow in the years to come. He wanted to do that, wanted to see Dean do that, wanted Dean to influence how Castiel changed and to be able to influence how Dean changed. He had never wanted anything more. If Dean wanted the same, they'd be able to have it together.

As expected, a new fear immediately replaced the ones so recently dissipated. _Of course I trust Dean, but what if he doesn't feel the same, what if he doesn't love me the way I love him? What if he sees me as "for now," while I see him as forever?_

"I was thinking something titanium," Castiel said as Gilda finished texting and set her phone aside. Reaching into his pocket, Castiel pulled out his wallet, withdrew a credit card, and placed it with the bill on the edge of the table. "Nothing fancy. I think he'd like something simple better. And I want to get the inner band engraved."

"Oh?" There was a mischievous twinkle in Gilda's eye. "What do you want it to say?"

Castiel broke into a wide smile. "Well…"

* * *

Endnote: I expect it'll be about a week before the next chapter - Thursday or Friday. Thanks for your patience, everyone.


	5. Chapter 5

"I was thinking room service for dinner," Castiel forced himself to sound casual and unworried as he toweled his hair dry. The air conditioned room chilled his wet swim trunks against his legs, left his bare chest clammy. After his lovely day with Gilda, Castiel had returned to their hotel suite expecting to find Dean grouchy. Meeting with Alastair, even under the best of circumstances, usually discomfited Dean, and now that Dean was done with his testimony there was no further cause for Alastair to play nice with them.

Grouchy hadn't begun to cover what Castiel had been confronted with when he got back.

"I'm not hungry," snapped Dean, pointedly not looking at Castiel. Slamming his laptop shut, Dean rose from the dining room table and stalked across the room towards the en-suite kitchen. Castiel watched him go, shoulders slumped. He'd hoped that Dean would be calmer when Castiel finished his swim, ready to talk and decompress and move on from whatever unpleasantness had taken place. Failing that, Castiel had at least hoped Dean would stop taking his temper out on Castiel.

"Perhaps we could watch a movie instead? Something on Netflix, or we could go to the theater…" he trailed off as Dean wheeled on him, a repressive, dark look on his face. Castiel tamped down his exasperation and said as calmly as he could, "What would you like to do?"

"Quit lookin' for me to take the lead," Dean stormed back to where Castiel stood, arms raised aggressively. Castiel's heart rate picked up, his breath caught, but he schooled himself to stillness, schooled himself to _trust_. "For once in your fricken _life_ why don't you figure out something to do on your own and leave me the fuck alone?" The words hurt, they hurt a _lot_ , but Castiel had an inkling of what Alastair was capable of and so he took the ridiculous, vacuous attack stoically, staring Dean down. "Fuck!" Flushing dark red, Dean turned away again, strode to the kitchen, boots stomping at every step, and slammed his hands against the counter like a toddler having a tantrum.

"I'm sorry that Alastair has upset you so badly," Castiel said quietly, every word measured, into the silence that followed Dean's outburst. "However, I will not permit you to take your anger out on me." His heartbeat raced. He was rebuking Dean, he was rebuking his dom. The consequences of bucking authority were unthinkable. Pushing the fears away, he made himself continue. "If you need time alone, all you need to do is ask, and I will entertain myself for the evening. I _know_ you know that I am capable of doing so."

Castiel's show of self-control hung heavy in the tension thick in the room, and then Dean crumpled in on himself, knees hitting the floors, arms resting on the counter, head hitting his hands, shoulders slack with defeat.

"No," he mumbled, "no, please don't go, Cas. I'm sorry. I don't actually want…just…but…fuck, I don't deserve you. I don't deserve what we have together."

"Were you able to talk to Dr. Barnes this afternoon?" The appointment had been scheduled for the presumed end time of Dean's meeting with Alastair, but Dean shook his head.

"Alastair…had a lot to say," Dean spoke as if every word was an effort, but he was talking, _really_ talking instead of mindlessly, aggressively lashing out.

 _We've both come so far._

"I rescheduled for tomorrow," continued Dean. There was a long, pained pause. Castiel yearned to bridge the distance between them, but it was more than a physical gap and there were things he needed to hear from Dean before he'd offer his embrace. Castiel had to maintain his autonomy, had to fight back against the voices in his head screaming that somehow this was Castiel's fault, that he should apologize, that he should abase himself, self-flagellate, volunteer for the punishment that would somehow fix the breach between them. None of this was Castiel's fault. Indirectly, it was Alastair's, and in the moment, it was Dean's. Dean was treating Castiel poorly for no reason. There was nothing Castiel could have done to prevent Dean lashing out. And as Dean well knew, his stuttering apology, his general assumption that the issue was about Dean not _deserving_ their relationship, was no apology at all.

"This morning, I cut you until you cried." Dean was so quiet that Castiel took several steps closer to be sure he heard clearly.

"As I asked you to," Castiel agreed. _Calm. Understanding. Loving. But firm._

A pin could have dropped in the silence that followed. Castiel could see Dean struggling within himself as muscles tensed and relaxed in his back and arms.

"Just – I know we gotta talk this shit out but will you throw me a bone? Have I fucked this – did I just fuck _us_ up beyond repair?" Dean finally looked towards Castiel, his eyes wide and dark and ringed in red as if he'd been crying, his cheeks unusually pale. Breaking into a warm smile, Castiel shook his head. It was all he could do not to laugh.

"It will take more than one conversation of you being an ass to ruin our relationship, Dean. I believe you're intimately familiar with how incredibly difficult I am to drive away," Castiel replied dryly. Dean's expression immediately shuttered and darkened. For an instant he looked furious, and then he turned away, dropped his ass to rest on his heels, stared blankly towards the far wall of the kitchen. "Dean, I didn't mean—"

"Yeah, ya did."

"No, I _didn't_ ," Castiel insisted. "Please stop _trying_ to turn this into a fight. I don't want to argue with you. I want to help you – I want to comfort you, as you've comforted me so many times before. You must realize that the only reason I am not asking you what Alastair said to upset you this badly is because I do not want you to feel you have to tell me?" Dean nodded. Tension built in Dean's back, his shoulders slowly lifting towards his ears as his body stiffened. Castiel's nerves sang alarm. _This is it, he's going to show his true colors, he's going to hurt me, he's going to—_ He cut the thoughts off, ignored the fears as best he could, because he knew how unfounded they were. He didn't trust himself, he might never trust himself, but he had learned enough through therapy to recognize when his PTSD and anxiety were lying to him. He needed to find the words to make _Dean_ understand that – both that Castiel trusted Dean, and that Castiel thought Dean should trust himself.

 _Does Dean trust me?_ The ring, hidden in his suitcase in the box containing his dress shoes, burned through his thoughts. _He has plenty of reasons not to. Maybe I have this all wrong. Maybe I—_

 _Maybe, just a distant possibility mind you, I have a massive anxiety disorder._ Castiel sighed."Dean, I trust you implicitly. You will not hurt me. You will not do anything to me that we have not discussed. If you cross a line, I will tell you so, as I am doing now, and I know that you will heed my words. There's no one but you. I'm not staying because you've cowed me, or intimidated me, or made me feel that I am trapped. I'd leave if I didn't wish to be here, if I didn't wish to be with you." _For the rest of my life_. "I love you, Dean."

Dean's shoulders bunched but he didn't say a word, didn't make a sound. Abruptly, the tension left him, and he fell back onto the floor with a painful-sounding clunk, head hitting the tiles, eyes staring up at the ceiling, hands carding his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. He turned to look at Castiel, tears streaking his face.

"Alastair locked me in his office with him," said Dean. His voice was dull and emotionless and, flat as it was, screamed Dean's profound distress louder than the most vocal lamentation would have. "He told me I ruined the case with my testimony but that he could salvage it if I'd do the things he'd say. I knew that was bullshit, but he kept at me. Explained that I'm a shit dom, that I've spoiled you after all the hard work Naomi put into training you." Castiel's stomach curdled. "He's thought about you; he went into graphic details of all the things he'd like to do to you – all the things he expected me to help do to you. Things you wouldn't like – I _know_ you wouldn't like them." Silence hung in the air like a pall, so absolute that Castiel's breath sounded loud, so delicate that Castiel thought his skin would shred when the quiet shattered. Dean bit his lip against words, turned away, and whispered so softly Castiel could scarce him, "It turned me on, Cas."

"Dean, I—"

The shrill shriek of the room phone ringing interrupted him.

Ring. "Listening to Alastair—" Ring. "—describe how he wanted—" Ring. "—to hurt you, how he wanted—" Ring. " _—me_ to hurt you…" Ring. Deafening silence fell. "God, I was so fucking hard."

A sudden premonition seized Castiel with fear. Despite his resolution to keep his distance and not invade Dean's space until they'd talked this out, he crossed the room, forced himself into Dean's field of vision, squatted beside where Dean lay on the floor.

"Did he touch you, Dean?"

 _He did._

Face streaked red with tears, Dean turned away.

 _I will fucking kill him._

The phone began to ring anew.

 _Dean is mine._

"I'm going to get that," Dean muttered, hopping up and walking in broad strides to the phone. Castiel trailed behind. Grabbing the receiver, Dean snapped, "Hello?" The hum of someone speaking on the other end was loud though the words were indecipherable. The color drained from Dean's face. "The fuck you say? Shit. Um." Dean covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "It's my brother."

"What?" All thought of Alastair vanished. "Your brother is on the phone?"

"No – no, he's downstairs." Dean took a jittery step in place, raked a hand through his already ruined hair. "Right now. He's downstairs. It's the front desk. They're asking if they should let him come up here."

"I'll support you no matter what you choose to do."

 _It's too much. This is too much in one day._

"Whatever I want to…" Shaking himself, panting with nerves, Dean pulled his hand away and said, "What does he want?" He listened. "To talk," he muttered, apparently to himself, "he shows up out of the blue at my hotel room after we haven't seen each other in a decade because he wants to _talk_ , I…fuck. Send him up."

Dean hung up without awaiting an answer. For a long moment, they stood and stared at each other.

"Maybe wanna put some clothes on, Cas?" suggested Dean dryly. Castiel flushed; he was still wearing his sodden swim trunks. He'd been so caught up in their conversation he'd forgotten. Bolting to the bedroom, Castiel kicked off the shorts and grabbed his pajamas from the bed, ignoring how the flannel stuck to his damp crotch as he hastily tugged the pants on, hopping from foot to foot.

"We're not done talking about this," Castiel called towards the living room. Pulling his shirt over his head, he glanced the door frame with his shoulder as he made his way blindly back out to the living room. Pain choked at his throat as the new-cut feather on his back stretched and the scabs cracked. With a surprised cry, he fell to his knees.

"Cas!" Dean was there in an instant, tugging the shirt back up to reveal Castiel's back. Castiel had taken a chance by swimming without a bandage – he'd been secretly hoping that exposure to chlorine would help the scars form and had tolerated the sting with that in mind – and Dean hissed to see blood seeping down his back. "Shit, I'm gonna go get the first aid kit and—"

The _ping_ of the elevator sounded loudly, there was a click and the room door opened. Dean froze like a deer in headlights, staring over his shoulder wide-eyed. On his knees at Dean's feet, Castiel grimaced.

 _A sitcom couldn't have set this situation up more embarrassingly._

Peeking around Dean's thigh, Castiel got his first look at Dean's brother. The man, presumably Sam Winchester, was tall, taller than Dean, and leaner. His features were more cut than Dean's, his eyes dark in the dim light that passed for atmospheric in the fancy hotel room. Chestnut hair curled around his ears. A determined expression hardened his features; he looked around the room and his eyes went wide when he saw their compromising position.

Castiel was growing truly fed up with long, tense silences.

"It's not what it looks like," Castiel said. Tugging his shirt off the rest of the way, he rose easily, indifferent to the lingering twinge in his back.

"What does it look like?" asked Sam blankly. His voice was higher pitched than Dean's, smooth and clear. There wasn't much family resemblance.

"Sam?" Dean's voice broke and rasped hoarsely. Shifting so he could see his boyfriend's face, Castiel struggled to keep his concern under wraps. Dean's hands shook, his cheeks pale despite an unhealthy flush over the bridge of his nose and forehead. He shot Castiel a frantic look and Castiel offered a reassuring smile. "Sammy, that really you?"

"You look good, Dean," Sam shook off his confusion and managed a wan smile. It occurred to Castiel that this meeting was as fraught for the younger brother as it was for the older. The last time Sam had seen Dean, it was leaning over the bleeding body of a young woman who died scant years later. Castiel felt awkward, out of place. The brothers had so much to talk about, discussions to which Castiel had nothing to contribute.

"I should give you two some privacy," Castiel suggested, shifting towards the bedroom.

"No!" To Castiel's surprise, two voices spoke simultaneously. Dean pled silently with his eyes and Sam actually took a step forward, a restraining hand outstretched.

"I mean, if you're uncomfortable, you could go, Cas…" Dean looked away and Castiel's heart ached on his behalf.

"You don't have to leave on my account," added Sam hastily. "I mean, um…"

Awkward silence fell again.

"You know what," snapped Dean so suddenly that Sam started, "fuck this. Sam – sit your ass down. If you were gonna chew me out I figure you'd have started already. Cas – I'm getting the first aid kit, I should never'a let you swim with your back like that. Both of you…make small talk or some shit, I dunno. I'll be right back." Suiting action to word, Dean spun and headed to the enormous bathroom that came equipped with a full first aid kit.

 _At least he's not stewing about Alastair any longer._

After another moment of stunned quiet, Sam obeyed Dean's command, grabbed a chair from the dining room table and sat down. Castiel uncertainly followed suit.

"So, um, you're Castiel Novak?" said Sam.

"And you're Sam Winchester."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I can't believe I'm really here. If mom and dad knew…" He shook his head. "You're Dean's…submissive?" The word rolled off Sam's tongue unfamiliarly but there was no discomfort or condemnation, only curiosity.

"I'm Dean's boyfriend," Castiel corrected. "As I imagine you must already know, I'm also a submissive and a masochist."

Sam nodded. Every time he moved his head, locks of hair swayed around his ears and over his forehead. "I've been following the news coverage of the trial," he said apologetically. "It feels like an invasion of privacy, but I guess it can't be helped? They talk about you a lot more than they talk about Dean."

"We haven't been following the news," Dean said in clipped tones as he walked back into the room. He crossed to stand behind Castiel and set the first aid kit down on the table.

"Oh, so you haven't seen…" Sam trailed off, colored, his fair cheeks showing red much more brightly than Dean's did. Sam's gaze flickered from Castiel to Dean, and whatever he saw on Dean's face caused him to quail. "You did see."

"Yeah, I fuckin' saw," Dean spat. There was a slosh of liquid as Dean took things out of the kit. "Fuckin' Alastair didn't give me much choice. Anything to drive the knife deeper." Something wet jabbed against Castiel's bare back, stinging, and he grimaced. "Fuck. Sorry, Cas."

"It's fine, Dean."

Lips compressed to a flat, unhappy line, Sam looked away.

"Come to tell me what a monster I am?" Dean spoke quietly, dangerously, as he dabbed more gently at Castiel's back. "That mom and dad were right to kick me out? How I scarred you for life with what you saw? Why—"

"No!" Sam interrupted, looking up once more, eyes flashing. "I tried to get your phone number but I couldn't track it down. Finding your hotel was easy 'cause of all the news coverage. I just…I wanted…I was going to stay away, figured if you wanted to talk to me you'd have found me any time over the last however many years, but then that reporter interviewed me and I told her what I thought and I figured it'd make the news. I saw that article and I guess abstractly I knew that Mary and John felt that way but seeing it in black and white, and then Rosen didn't put in _any_ of what I said and I realized you probably didn't know." There was something desperate to Sam's tone, something pleading in his expression. Dean's hand slowed then stilled against Castiel's back. "I don't think what our parents think – I _never_ thought of you that way, Dean. When you left, I wanted to track you down but I was just a kid. What was I supposed to do? And then all that shit happened with Meg, and I tried again, but John and Mary found out and put me on lockdown. After that, you were just fucking _gone_. I don't talk to them anymore. Because of what they did to you."

"Sam…"

"You're my brother, Dean," continued Sam, expression open and vulnerable. Dean was usually so stoic, so closed of, which made it was strange to watch Sam wearing his emotions on his sleeve. "I didn't get why you didn't come and talk to me. It wasn't 'til all this hit the news that it occurred to me that maybe you had assumed I felt the same way as John and Mary. They wouldn't even let me talk to you before they kicked you out. They wouldn't let me out of their sight! Dad even drove me to school, mom picked me up every day. I just…is it too late? I want my brother back. I've missed you."

There was a drawn out pause.

"Fuck," Dean muttered.

In an instant, the pressure was gone from Castiel's back and Dean walked to Sam, hauled him up and caught him in a crushing bear hug, patting him on the back.

"Sammy," he muttered, sounding as profoundly moved as Castiel had ever heard. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling an intruder at their family reunion. "Fuck, I—" Dean pulled away, held a weakly smiling Sam at arm's length, tugged him into another hug. "You know it's all true, right? 'Bout me? I really am—"

"No, you're not," whispered Sam, tears in his eyes. "I'm not a dumb kid any more, I've learned a bit about this stuff. I get it. I do. I'm not like you, but I get it."

Dean leaked a wounded sound, but neither spoke again. They held each other close, as if their broken family could be repaired if only they embraced each other long enough, and Castiel smiled and tried not to stare. Abruptly, after long minutes, Dean broke off the hug, stepped back, grabbed a chair, swung it backwards and straddled it, arms draped over the top of the backrest.

"Guessin' you know all 'bout me already, Google could tell you everything you needed to know," Dean said.

"Not _everything_ , I was wondering—"

"But I don't know shit about you, Sammy," Dean cut him off.

"Fair," said Sam dryly, smiling. "Well, first off, I don't go by Sammy anymore. I'm a vet student at Texas A&M."

"Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"Either's fine," Sam shrugged, "but no, not at the moment."

"Tell me about…"

Castiel settled back in his chair, relaxing, listening. There were moments of tension between the brothers but it was obvious both were elated to be reunited. If Alastair lingered in Dean's thoughts, there was no evidence of it in his behavior; his previous pique was gone. There was little Castiel could contribute, but periodically Dean glanced his way and gave him a dazzling, excited smile, his eyes twinkling with glee in the low light. After a while, Castiel wandered to the bedroom to get a fresh shirt and returned to find Dean enthusiastically talking about his photography business, leaning towards Sam in his eagerness, arms gesticulating in emphasis.

 _This is nice_.

Dean shot him another spectacular smile, and Sam gave him a welcoming one, encouraging Castiel to resume his silent participation in their conversation.

 _I could get used to this._

Sam had looked at Dean's photographs – all of Dean's shared online albums – and with a strange expression explained that he'd been surprised how _appealing_ he found certain images. Though he spoke obliquely, his blushes were suggestive. Sam glanced at Castiel, looked away and colored more deeply when he saw that Castiel had noticed.

 _This could be my family now._

Castiel had only set aside a few weeks for the trial. After that, he had a flight booked for Rabat, then on to Nairobi and Dubai.

 _I don't want to leave._

"You have got to see these shots of Cas I took yesterday," enthused Dean. Castiel flushed red, Sam looked at him in shock, then turned back to Dean and agreed with a slow, uncertain nod.

 _What is there for me in Rabat? Or Moscow? Or Shanghai? Or Johannesburg? Or Santiago?_

Pulling out his phone, Dean waved for Castiel and Sam to come look over his shoulder and he scrolled through some shots from the previous day's scene. Though the images were erotic, they weren't about Castiel's cock. None of the ones he shared were full frontal. Instead, clever use of camera angles and lighting showed off the beautiful curves of Castiel's back and sides, contrasted with the thick ropes wound in a star pattern over his chest, the bindings confining his fingers and hands, the rope gag stuffed between his teeth, the lines torn into his chest and abdomen, the way blood traced each rise and divot of his muscles.

 _This is what Dean sees when he looks at me_.

Castiel had never felt so beautiful or so cared for. The photo album was a love letter in technicolor, and every shot spoke a thousand words.

 _What is there for me anywhere in the world to compare with what I have here?_

"Do you like them, Cas?" Dean sounded _shy_ , uncertain; he looked up over his shoulder at Castiel with a boyish grin.

 _Nothing. Nothing could compare to being with Dean._

"I love them," said Castiel, voice thick with emotion. Dean flushed and looked away. For a moment, it was if Sam wasn't even there, as if Alastair hadn't driven a wedge between them, as if they hadn't been arguing earlier. The trial was only a bump in the road. Their relationship was too solid to be more than temporarily jostled by so little.

 _I love you so much I can hardly believe it._

"Wow," murmured Sam. The moment broken, Dean looked away, expression hardening, and Castiel glanced up to see Sam staring at each of them in turn. "I wish John and Mary could see you two. I think they'd understand, if they saw."

 _I can't leave you_.

"They made their choice." Dean covered embarrassment with gruffness.

 _I hope you feel the same way._

"I made my choice." Dean's face broke into an uncharacteristic warm smile as he gazed adoration at Castiel. "This is my life now, and I won't let anyone – even our parents – hurt Cas."

 _You do feel the same. I know you do._

* * *

Gray light leaked around the edges of the curtains. The clock on the nightstand read a few minutes after 6 AM. Castiel lay on his back, staring at the dark chasm that was all he could make out of the ceiling. Dean was a hot presence beside him and around him, one of his arms arm thrown over Castiel's chest making a pleasant, reassuring weight that resisted every inhalation. Unless something bizarre had happened, Sam slept in the living room on the couch, hopefully blissfully unaware of the things that Castiel and Dean had done on that couch in the two weeks they'd stayed in the hotel suite.

The evening had gone well. It was strange to think so, considering how dreadfully it had started. Dean still hadn't properly apologized to him, their discussion – argument? – cut short by Sam's arrival. The lack of resolution bothered and worried Castiel but he had to accept that having a long lost and much lamented younger brother return was an excellent excuse for interrupting an important conversation. As long as Dean ultimately acknowledged that he couldn't lash out at Castiel whenever someone else peeved him, things would be alright.

 _They will be, right? Dean can change. I've seen him change. I've changed. He's given me room to change. I have to give him room to change._

 _But what if…_

Damn it. He'd forgotten to take his medicine last night.

Moving slowly, carefully, Castiel started to sit up. Dean's arm slid down his chest limply, then tensed, trying to stop Castiel from leaving. Dean shifted and mumbled inarticulately in his sleep.

"Shh, it's fine," Castiel whispered, "I'll be right back."

"Don' go, Cas," said Dean, words slurring. He rolled, his other arm wrapping around Castiel's back. " 'm sorry. 'm 'n 'djit."

Smiling, Castiel gently tried to remove Dean's arm, but Dean's fingers tensed at his hip and Dean's arm stiffened to hold Castiel in place. "I just need to go to the bathroom," Castiel said, touched, trying not to laugh at how Dean clung to him.

"Please, s'ay wi' me."

"But…" Castiel trailed off. His roiling thoughts had gone silent, he realized. Dean's half-conscious reassurance had reminded him of how deeply Dean cared, how much the relationship meant to Dean. Together, they could fix things. They both wanted to. Alastair couldn't ruin what they had; Naomi couldn't take it away from them. The media, Dean's parents, Adler, all of it paled in comparison to the bond that they'd forged over the past year. Dean's affection wasn't a cure for anxiety, but his words were a balm to riled nerves. Sure, Castiel had missed a dose, but the levels in his blood were still good and, knowing that Dean loved him and wanted him to stay, Castiel could wait a few hours before taking the next pill. He wasn't foolish enough to think that Dean's affection could cure Castiel's problems, but it helped.

"Okay," he whispered into the dawn, lying back down. "I love you, Dean."

"Love you, Cas'iel," Dean mumbled. Shimmying close, laying his head on Castiel's shoulder, Dean sighed and eased back into slumber. One arm cradling Dean's back, Castiel reached across himself to card through Dean's hair soothingly with the other hand.

 _I've made good choices. These are the right choices for me. I was right to trust Dean, am right to trust Dean._

 _I've come far enough that I can trust myself._

 _We can make this work._

Awake and at ease, Castiel lost himself in thoughts of how to propose as the light in the room slowly brightened.

* * *

Dropping his elbows on the desk with a clunk, Castiel hung his head in his hands and massaged his temples. Rain splattered on the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of Adler's old office, a soothing patter that made a pleasant counterpoint to Castiel's racing thoughts. His e-mail was a disaster. He'd snatched a few hours here and there to work throughout the past couple weeks but he was still woefully behind. That wasn't what had brought him to the Sandover building that day, though. A frantic phone call from Alfie had summoned him. The overtaxed executive assistant had done everything in his power to keep the situation at their domestic wing under control, but there were issues that required higher-level authorization than Alfie had and Adler was unable to work during the trial.

Rising, Castiel shook away his tiredness and went to the filing cabinet. He'd been at the office for twelve hours and the words of the e-mails he read were beginning to blur together. However little Castiel thought of the man, he couldn't deny that Adler was a good worker. His files were well organized and thorough, his e-mails were concise and on-point, and picking up the threads of the work that Adler had been in the midst of proved surprisingly easy. What Castiel didn't understand was why no one had done this sooner. It had been over a month since Adler had gone on leave. Alfie could only do so much. Castiel retrieved the file he needed and returned to the desk to familiarize himself with the contents before attempting to reply to the e-mail he'd just read.

A flash of lightning illuminated the darkening sky. Over the low buildings of the city and the flatlands of north Texas, the storm could be seen rolling in for miles. Now that it was upon them, it tinged the dusky air outside yellow. Thunder crashed. A strange frisson ran through Castiel as the whole building seemed to vibrate. The peels faded and Castiel could hear the last brash notes of the phone ringing.

"Hello, Castiel Novak speaking," he said as he answered it.

"Ah, Novak, good to have you back to work." Joshua sounded sincere. Castiel closed the file he'd retrieved and set it aside.

"Thank you sir, it's good to be back."

"Tell me the state of our domestic affairs," Joshua prompted.

Castiel took a moment to order his thoughts, considering the wide array of tasks he'd been involved in throughout his long day, and then said, "Things in Dallas are going as well as can be expected. Fortunately, Mr. Adler was a competent manager—"

"Despite his other failings."

"—yes, sir, and he left things well-ordered enough that it has been relatively easy for others to take up the reins."

"And by others, you mean…?"

"Primarily Mr. Alfred." Castiel didn't begrudge Adler the credit for his good work at Sandover, nor was he about to withhold Alfie's justly earned praise. "He's done a phenomenal job thus far. However, the other lower-level staff here has also done a great deal to pick up the slack. That said, there _is_ still slack. If Adler doesn't return to work soon, Sandover will lose business."

"The Dallas situation has been a topic of much discussion during the Board Meetings this week," Joshua said. "Allowing Ms. Tapping into the building showed shockingly poor judgment on Adler's part. We expect a man of his position to be not merely _competent_ but also to exercise restraint, wisdom, and compassion: to display the traits we wish our staff to emulate." Frowning, Castiel wondered if Joshua was on speaker phone. He sounded like he was giving a prepared speech before an audience. "As such, regardless of the outcome of the trial, Mr. Adler will not be returning to work for Sandover. He was informed of this decision earlier today." Castiel wished he could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation. "After extensive discussion of which individuals in the company are best qualified to take charge of the domestic branch of our operations, we have selected you as our preferred candidate."

"What?" exclaimed Castiel before he could stop himself. His heart beat loud in his ears. It was too impossible, too good to be true, the timing too fortuitous. Things like that didn't _happen_ , not to him.

"The position we propose is somewhat different from that which Mr. Adler held," continued Joshua as if Castiel had not interrupted. "As the negotiations last fall demonstrated, the separation of our domestic and international arms that once was a logical set up has ceased to serve our needs as the Corporation has grown. Forcing the head of international affairs to return to the country for a month cost us valuable business. As such, we are creating a new position which will be responsible for oversight on both divisions. The Head of Corporate Liaisons will have a range of responsibilities determined by the board. I've sent you an e-mail with a full description and our proposed compensation." Trading the phone receiver from one hand to the other, Castiel scrambled for the mouse, woke the computer up and went to his e-mail. The most recently received message had come in a few minutes before and was from Joshua, with the entire Board of Directors CCed. Scanning it quickly, Castiel nodded pointlessly as Joshua continued speaking. "If you are interested in the job, we will need to meet in person to work out the details. You'll continue to report directly to me, and I will guide you at first but ultimately I'd like to see the Corporate Liaison position become largely independent – not an autonomous wing of the organization, but a mostly self-governed branch of the Financial Office. We'd meet frequently, of course."

"Of course," Castiel mumbled distractedly. There was nothing outlandish on the list of expected duties. Most of the responsibilities were things that Castiel already did except on a larger scale. He'd have nearly double the employees reporting to him, for one thing. He reached the end of the e-mail and his eyes widened. The proposed salary of $5.8 million was almost double what he made, which was already more than he needed.

"I'll give you some time to consider what we are proposing and we can speak in the morning," Joshua said.

"Where would the job be based?" _He's going to say London or Hong Kong or California or something. There's no way this could be so perfect. There's no way this can be exactly what I'd want._

"Dallas."

Castiel's vision fuzzed around the edges. _This is a dream. There's no way this is really happening to me right now. Dallas and Kansas City are only 8 hours apart. Dean and I could see each other often, in person. We can be together._

"Would I have discretion in hiring replacements for myself and Mr. Adler?" Castiel asked, breathless.

"You'd not have carte blanche," replied Joshua, "but you'd have a voice in the decision."

"I'd like Ms. Milton to take my place as the Director of International Sales," Castiel said in a rush. "And I'd want to retain Alfie – Mr. Alfred – as my personal assistant."

"These are details that we can certainly discuss," Joshua agreed amenably.

"Then I say—"

"Do me a favor and sleep on it, please, Castiel?" chuckled Joshua.

"If you prefer, sir," Castiel scowled, but he suspected it closely resembled a smile. He was happy – elated. _This can't be real. I'm going to wake up with Dean's elbow digging in to my side and a voicemail that says I've got to go to Belarus in four days._ "But you'll just get to hear me say 'yes' in twelve hours instead of right now."

Joshua laughed. Overjoyed, Castiel joined him.

 _Or it might be real. I might get to stay with Dean._

"In that case, I recommend you speak to Ms. Milton about her upcoming trip to Rabat, call the airline about rebooking the flight in her name, and we can set a time for us to meet imminently in Columbus," Joshua said. "Assuming, of course, that you say 'yes' tomorrow."

"Of course, sir. Thank you, sir."

Snatching his cell phone as he heard the click of Joshua hanging up, Castiel went to his text messages.

 _Castiel (8:34 PM): Are you available to take over the trip to Rabat?_

 _Anna Milton (8:35 PM): Available? I'm already packed._

 _Castiel (8:35 PM): It's two weeks from now._

 _Anna Milton (8:36 PM): I know I like to be prepared. I had a feeling you wouldn't be able to go._

 _Castiel (8:37 PM): You're going to make a great head of International Sales._

 _Anna Milton (8:37 PM): WHAT?_

 _Anna Milton (8:37 PM): NO NO NO DON'T LEAVE YOU'RE A GREAT BOSS._

 _Anna Milton (8:38 PM): I AM NOT WEARING THAT DRESS IT LOOKS LIKE CAT VOMIT._

 _Anna Milton (8:39 PM): Dammit that was supposed to go to my sister I'm sorry._

 _Anna Milton (8:40 PM): I'm a bridesmaid, it's a thing._

 _Anna Milton (8:40 PM): Never mind. Are you still there, Mr. Novak?_

 _Castiel (8:40 PM): Yes, Ms. Milton. And I'm not leaving. Joshua has offered me a promotion and I'm hoping that you'll be my replacement. No promises yet. But I'll still be your boss either way._

 _Castiel (8:41 PM): If you're very lucky you might be out of the country for the wedding in question and thus be spared wearing the cat vomit dress._

While he waited for a reply, Castiel tapped through to his text history with Dean. The most recent messages were from earlier in the day, inane conversation about when Castiel would be done for the day, Dean cracking jokes about Castiel working too hard. Underlying every such conversation, subtext to every word, was the knowledge that soon Castiel would be leaving again, soon he'd be traveling the world once more, working 70 hours a week while jetlagged, they'd be forced to sleep alone, communicating only by Skype as the time differences allowed, able to see each other and hear each other but not touch. It was the elephant in the room, the unspoken, painful truth behind every moment of wonderful time they spent together. It was why Castiel had held on to the ring he'd bought the week before without making any move towards proposing. With Castiel's schedule, when could a wedding even take place? Why get married if they were to be so perpetually divided.

As if Dean sensed that Castiel was thinking of him, there was a chirp from Castiel's phone and a new text arrived.

 _Dean (8:42 PM): Dude. Seriously when the hell are you going to be done for the night?_

Looking down at the desk, Castiel sighed. His e-mail inbox was stuffed full. The file he'd pulled out to review before Joshua's call taunted him. The work was essential, the consequences of falling too far behind on it potentially disastrous, but he was excited and he wanted to get back to the hotel and talk to Dean.

 _What if he doesn't want me to live closer?_

Such ridiculous thoughts would only grow more common the longer Castiel delayed telling Dean about the news. With a stern shake of his head, Castiel rose, grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, snagged his cell phone and strode to the office door, typing as he walked.

 _Castiel (8:43 PM): I'm on my way back now. Have you eaten? We need to talk._

The office door closed behind him and Castiel locked it and headed to the elevator. Looking back to his phone, he realized how ominous his text sounded and added hastily:

 _Castiel (8:44 PM): It's nothing bad._

 _Castiel (8:44 PM): It's good._

 _Castiel (8:44 PM): It's really good._

 _Castiel (8:45 PM): At least I think it's good._

 _Castiel (8:45 PM): I hope you'll think it's good too._

He was typing _But we'll talk about it when I get back_ when he got the next text.

 _Dean (8:45 PM): WOAH HOLD UP_

 _Dean (8:46 PM): Calm down and breathe, Cas._

 _Castiel (8:46 PM): I'm sorry, Dean._

 _Dean (8:47 PM): NGL I was a little worried with that first text but it's all good we'll talk when you get here k?_

 _Castiel (8:48 PM): Sounds good. What does ngl mean?_

The spit Castiel out in the lobby. He quickly checked his conversation with Anna but she hadn't replied. The security guards gave him a casual wave, grown used to seeing him about at all hours, and Castiel exited into the landscaped courtyard outside the building as lightning flashed and the skies opened, water falling in sheets. Normally, he'd have lingered in the office in the hopes that the storm would abate but he didn't care if he got soaked to the bone. He was too excited. He had to talk to Dean. His phone pinged and Castiel risked a glance at the screen, trusting his expensive case to keep the water off the electronics.

 _Dean (8:50 PM): Not gonna lie._

 _Dean (8:51 PM): See you soon._

Rain pelted Castiel, soaking his suit, matting down his hair, but he didn't care.

He was going to see Dean soon.

He was going to see Dean every day.

* * *

Endnote: In my dreams, I finish the first draft of the next chapter by the end of tomorrow, and I scrape together time to post it on Monday, but I'm not sure. I have a busy weekend. It'll be out by Tues or Weds, though.


	6. Chapter 6

"Joshua called."

 _Don't be nervous_. Castiel risked a glance up to meet Dean's eyes then returned to staring at the carpet. _Don't be nervous._ There was a matted stain by the couch, he noted idly. _Don't be nervous._ Probably semen or lubricant. _Don't be nervous._ They should clean that up. _Don't be nervous._

"Oh?" Dean's mouth was fixed in a scowl, his eyes narrowed, his brow tense. _No. No. That's not right at all. He doesn't look angry, he doesn't look upset, that's just in my head. He looks normal. He looks like Dean. Mildly curious, wondering why I'm bringing it up, surely wondering if this is what I hinted at in my text messages earlier._

"He offered me a promotion." Castiel paused to assess the impact of his words on Dean.

 _Dammit, coward, stop beating around the bush._

"Dude, that's awesome!" Dean grinned, indisputably thrilled on Castiel's behalf. _He's happy now but will he be when he realizes—_ "Wait, Cas, does that mean you won't have to travel so much?"

"My travel would be minimal and mostly domestic," Castiel spoke to the stain on the floor. He could bear to look at _that_ , as embarrassing as it was. Looking at Dean's face was impossible. "I'd be based in Dallas."

Without answering, Dean picked up his cell phone and tapped at it, brow knit, intent expression luridly lit by the light from the screen.

"What are you doing?"

 _Why didn't you answer? Why don't you look happy anymore? I was right, you don't want this._

"Looking for houses in Dallas."

Dean looked up at him, grinned and winked. Heat filled Castiel's chest, supplanting his nerves and doubts, love burgeoning out to spread to every extremity. Pulling up a chair, he plopped down next to Dean and pulled out his own phone, calling up Trulia. A map of Dallas filled the screen, populated with local house prices.

"Take a look at the one on Mission Ave…"

 _I'd better make plans to propose._

* * *

"Don't go meet with Alastair, Dean," said Castiel sternly. Dean grimaced. "I mean it. There's nothing to be accomplished by speaking with him."

"I owe him, Cas," Dean replied, but he wouldn't meet Castiel's eyes.

"8 hours a day, times the 24 days of the trial thus far, times the 15 days he charged before that, times billables of $500 per hours," Castiel ticked off each point as he spoke, "equals _$156,000_ for his time on this trial."

"Shit, you can do that in your head?"

"So what, exactly, do you owe him?" Castiel pressed on as if Dean hadn't interjected. "He got you into the life. He taught you to be a sadist. He scarred you, literally and figuratively. Last time you went to speak with him, he raped you—"

"He didn't!"

" _He touched you sexually when you didn't want him to, that is the epitome of rape, Dean_." Castiel's rage at Alastair's behavior was expressed in icy sternness. Dean grimaced and stared at the carpet.

"I never told you he touched me." Castiel didn't dignify Dean's lame excuse with an answer. The flush to his cheek, the way he toed at the wool fringe of the rug, and his unwillingness to look at Castiel spoke louder than words.

With a sigh, Castiel shoved his anger aside. He wasn't angry at Dean, not really, and it wasn't any fairer for Castiel to take his temper out on Dean than it was when Dean took his temper out on Castiel. "I'm not trying to make you feel brow-beaten, but I need you to see that you don't owe Alastair anything."

"He came when I called," Dean replied stubbornly.

"Because you offered to pay him, and because he knew that if he did you'd feel indebted to him," said Castiel. "He's using you, Dean. He wants to hurt you again. He's _already_ hurt you again. Please, don't do this."

"But what if it's about the case? He _said_ it's about the case."

Scowling, Castiel pulled out his cell phone, opened his text conversations and passed Dean the latest exchange that Castiel had with Mr. Fitzgerald earlier that afternoon.

 _Castiel (12:32 PM): Wanted to check in and see how things are going. Is there anything you need from me?_

 _Garth Fitzgerald (12:35 PM): Everything's going great Castiel. Mr. Wisdom probably has two or three more days of presenting his case. I'll text you the day before closing statements._

 _Castiel (12:37 PM): Can you think of any reason why Mr. Rolston might wish to speak with Dean?_

 _Garth Fitzgerald (12:38 PM): Nope we're copacetic. Nothing to worry bout._

Dean didn't glance at the phone. Castiel had shown him the conversation earlier. They both knew what it said.

"What if Alastair hasn't spoken to Fitzgerald about it – whatever it is – yet?" asked Dean. "Cas, I…look, if Tapping and Adler are found not guilty I don't know what I'll do. I'm not letting them near you again."

"Do you think I want to let Alastair near you?"

"No, of course not, but…" Dean shook his head as he trailed off.

"Please, whatever it is, tell me, Dean," Castiel implored.

"You'll get pissed."

"You don't know that," said Castiel. He couldn't wait until they never had to deal with Alastair again. "However, if you don't tell me, I will become frustrated – more frustrated than I already am. I know you've talked to Dr. Barnes about this. You told me she agrees with me. I can't understand why you're being so stubborn about this."

"Because he'll hurt you!" Dean burst out, turning away. "I don't know what I have to say to get you take him seriously. He's a sadistic mother fucker. He doesn't care about consent. He doesn't even fucking _pretend_ to care about consent and the only reason he knows you exist is because of me. He's seen all those pictures of you. I swear to fucking God I think he's seen your cock more times than I have. He wants you, Cas, and the only way I know to keep him away from you is to give him me instead." Dean's face blanched as he realized what he'd admitted. "No, I mean—"

"You mean exactly what you said," interrupted Castiel. "And I won't let you do that. We keep him at arm's length. If he tries anything illegal, we get Fitzgerald involved. Unlike in the case with Naomi and Mr. Adler and Mr. Wisdom, the statute of limitations hasn't passed on anything that Alastair attempts. He knows that as well as we do. As I said: he's not actually trying to get to me, Dean, but he knows that threatening me is the way to wind you up. If he upsets you enough, you'll consent and he can do as he will without worrying about legal repercussions. Please stop making it easy for him."

Jerking himself around, Dean turned back to Castiel and embraced him tightly, raking a hand through Castiel's hair, wrapping the other painfully tight around Castiel's waist.

"I'm okay, Dean."

"I know – I know you are."

"He's not going to hurt me."

"I wish I could be sure of that."

"There's no way to be sure until after the fact," acknowledged Castiel, "but you can start to fix this by declining to meet with him today."

Dean didn't answer, holding Castiel close and trembling, lips pressed against Castiel's cheek. Finally, he whispered, "I gotta get a place in Dallas _asap_. I don't want you living alone, not when he knows where to find you."

"I can take care of myself, Dean," said Castiel, smiling. In some people, the over-protectiveness would worry him but with Dean, Castiel knew what he was getting in to, knew that when push came to shove Dean would honor Castiel's wishes.

 _God, trust feels good_.

"Doesn't mean I don't want to take care of you."

"You do, you truly do. No one has ever cared for me like you do."

"I'll stay," Dean murmured. "I'll stay here with you. I'll tell Alastair that with the trial winding down we no longer need his services and that I'll not be meeting with him further. I'll make him leave."

"Good."

Dean didn't let him go for long minutes, and though it felt nice, Castiel's nerves began to stir once more. With a sigh, Dean released him and strode across the room to where he'd left his cell phone.

"See?" Dean said as he looked at the phone screen. "I'm doing it now." He tapped through a few times and then put the phone to his ear. "Hey, Alastair." Castiel couldn't hear a hint of the other side of the conversation. "Yeah – I know. I'm sorry, I won't be able to make it today." There was a short pause. "Actually I was thinking you could head home. We're about done here, I think. The trial is winding down – don't interrupt me! – and Fitzgerald has things in hand. Send me your invoice and we'll settle up for the last couple weeks. I seriously can't thank you enough." Another pause. Could it really be so easy? "Any favors I owe you, I've repaid a thousand times." Dean's face clouded over as he listened to Alastair's reply. "He can take care of himself." The words were brusque, bitten off, and Dean hung up as soon as he'd finished speaking.

"Do you think he'll actually go?" Castiel asked. The words came out flat and matter-of-fact. He wasn't nervous, he realized with wonder. For once in his damn life he didn't feel a trace of anxiety.

"I have no idea," Dean admitted. His phone rang; he held down a button on the side until it stopped and threw it on to the small arm chair they never used. "But whatever happens, whatever he does, we'll deal with it together." Dean looked more troubled than he sounded. Smiling, Castiel closed the space between them and held Dean close. Trembles wracked Dean's body, but tension eased from each of them the longer they embraced.

"It's going to be okay, Dean. I'm going to take care of you."

"Thanks, Cas."

"For what?"

"Everything. Thanks for being everything."

* * *

"Dean, I don't know if I can—"

"Shh," murmured Dean soothingly in his ear. "Let me take care of you today." Castiel lay face down on the bed with Dean straddling his hips, half-hard cock resting on the small of Castiel's back. Palms rubbing at Castiel's shoulder blades. Dean hovered close over his back, powerful and hot and reassuring. "These are mostly healed." Dean traced a finger over the rough flesh of the second set of feathers. "It would be safe for me to cut the third set today."

Castiel shuddered, cock thickening and pressing uncomfortably into the bedding. He didn't bother to shift to adjust it. "I'd like that," he whispered. "Anything to take my mind off—"

The jury had started deliberations yesterday.

"I know, beautiful," Dean whispered, kissing behind his ear, sucking at his earlobe.

Dean and Castiel had sat in the courtroom with Charlie and Gilda and listened to Fitzgerald and Wisdom give their closing statements, listened to Judge Mills instructions to the jury on how they should proceed during their deliberations.

Castiel shuddered again, hips shifting to relieve the pressure against his dick.

For eight hours, they sat on the hard bench, listening to Charlie and Gilda's optimistic prognostications, awash in the curious buzz of the crowd, but in the end they had nothing to show for their diligence.

Dean settled his weight back to prevent Castiel from moving.

The jury failed to reach a decision on the first day.

"I know how hard this is for you, but I think it's better if we stay here for the day. Charlie and Gilda can let us know if anything happens at court."

Fitzgerald warned them that such long consideration of the facts was not in the prosecution's favor. Odds were that the jury would end up hung and Judge Mills would be forced to declare a mistrial.

"You're right – I know you're right – but—"

If that happened, there would be a new trial.

"Will you obey me, Cas?"

At least, if they were forced to start over, Castiel could reveal the truth about Uriel and maybe charges could be brought against him by one of the other submissives. None of them had known Wisdom, unfortunately, when Fitzgerald had inquired, but with further investigation along that avenue, maybe something could come up, maybe some of the other attendees at Naomi's parties could be identified and brought to justice.

"Yes, sir." _Always, Dean. Always._

At least Alastair wouldn't be involved in a second trial. He was gone, packed and left after his conversation with Dean. Fitzgerald had spoken with confused wonder of the other lawyer's abrupt departure but, tellingly, hadn't suggested that he wished Alastair back.

"Then lie there and be a good boy. I'm going to make you forget all about the trial."

Nodding agreement, Castiel relaxed against the bed as best he could. He would be good for Dean, obedient and diligent and dutiful. He would be good for himself, too, and let Dean do whatever he wanted, let Dean see to him. Doing so would help Dean, too, assuage the unnecessary guilt Dean felt over all that Castiel had suffered years before they met, assuage the guilt Dean felt over those he had hurt while he was with Alastair, those he hadn't protected.

"You're a good man, Dean," Castiel whispered. Dean didn't answer with words; he ground down over Castiel's new scars with his hands, rolled his hips against Castiel's ass, kissed along the back of Castiel's neck. Every brush of skin on skin, every half-expressed whimper and moan, every tender attention, screamed love and devotion.

Not fifteen minutes later Castiel lay flat on his back, a tie stuffed in his mouth, a second tie binding his wrists together, a rope tying his arms to the head board, forcing him to keep them raised over his head. Dean kissed and nipped along Castiel's jawline and rode him sweetly and tenderly.

"Feels so fucking good," Dean whispered reverently. His hips rolled in slow waves, working Castiel's cock gloriously within Dean's body, rubbing Dean's erection against Castiel's belly. Sweat dampened each of their chests where they came together and apart each time Dean moved and darkness fuzzed out the edges of Castiel's vision. He wasn't sure if it was oxygen deprivation or a side effect of how amazing Dean felt around him and he didn't care. "My good boy fucks me just the way I like it, let's me take exactly what I need. You gonna come for me?" Castiel nodded, banging his chin against Dean's forehead. Dean chuckled, a throaty sound somewhere between a laugh and a rumbling groan. Pressure built in Castiel's groin, twisted his stomach. They'd only been joined for a few minutes but he was already close. Dean had left him alone for a few minutes, gone to the bathroom to give himself an enema, returned quicker than Castiel would have imagined possible and fingered himself open. Merely watching, coupled with their earlier conversation, had Castiel partway gone. The steady, restrained, even movements as Dean fucked him senseless were driving him insane. It was all he could do to follow Dean's single instruction: _do not thrust_.

"That's good," Dean whispered. Castiel had no idea what Dean was talking about. There wasn't enough room left in his head to track their conversation. All he could do was focus on holding himself still and letting sensation wash over him in intense rippling waves that echoed the rocking of Dean's gorgeous hips, mirrored the rubbing of Dean's wet, hot channel against and around Castiel's cock. "You made me a promise once, fucking _ages_ ago, that if I let you come inside me you wouldn't make a mess, that you'd clean up every single drop."

Castiel moaned, the memory coming to him vividly. It was their first scene, a year ago, when Castiel had begged Dean to let Castiel fuck him, begged Dean to let him come. Watching Dean finger himself had driven Castiel over the edge that day. Now, remembering their first time did the same. With a guttural groan shattered by his gag, Castiel succumbed to the bliss encompassing him, his hips involuntarily thrust up from the bed and he came. Dean gasped and cursed, driving his ass down to meet Castiel's hips and take every inch of Castiel's cock. The steady rhythm faltered as Dean fucked Castiel through his orgasm and for a moment Castiel thought that Dean had also come, but Dean leaned back, taking Castiel deeper still and revealing his erection, red and swollen, the head of his dick shimmering with thin early release.

"Told you not to move," Dean laughed breathily. "Gonna be hell to pay for that later, boy."

 _Later?_ Castiel groaned, wondering how much Dean had in store for him that day. Abruptly, the pressure was gone from his softening cock as Dean lifted up on his heels; a thin trail of come attenuated between them and then snapped and dribbled down Castiel's belly. Rough fingers dug into Castiel's dry mouth and pulled out the balled-up tie and Dean shifted, shimmied up Castiel's body, turned around and presented his ass directly over Castiel's head.

"Clean me up," Dean ordered.

Clear lube glistened around Dean's stretched, reddened hole. A bead of come leaked free, thick and white. There was a fresh smell, the result of whatever Dean had used to clean himself, and Castiel flushed to realize how much he _wanted_ to rim his boyfriend. Such activities had made him uncomfortable in the past – Castiel had indicated rimming and related mouth-to-ass activities as "yellow light" on the lists of kinks that he'd rated to help Dean plan – but Dean knew that and cared enough to clean himself, cared enough to use an enema kit to ensure that Castiel wasn't sickened or disgusted. Dean wanted them both to enjoy this, even though he must realize that if he ordered Castiel to rim him, Castiel would obey regardless of how filthy Dean's ass was.

Castiel would do anything for Dean.

There was a time when that would have scared Castiel senseless, but now it felt natural and right, because Dean wasn't Naomi. Dean _cared_ about Castiel, and Castiel adored Dean.

Dean reached behind himself and spread his cheeks apart with his hands. Come leaked out and dripped onto Castiel's cheek. " _Now_ , boy."

"Yes, sir," Castiel rasped. Lifting his head, letting his eyes slip shut, Castiel licked over the outside of Dean's hole. The lube tasted sugary, over-strong with artificial fruit flavoring, subsuming the bitter flavor of semen without mitigating its unpleasant texture. Castiel didn't care. He had orders. He'd promised to clean up his mess if Dean would allow Castiel to fuck him. Castiel was a good boy. He kept his promises.

Castiel's arms strained at their bindings. He wanted to touch, wanted to be the one spreading Dean's cheeks wide, wanted to use fingers to stretch Dean's rim and delve as deeply as he could. Lacking that ability, he focused everyone on his mouth, on what he felt as he licked and sucked, used the powerful muscles of his tongue to wiggle within Dean's body. An approving growl tingled around Castiel's mouth, jolting him unexpectedly, and Dean's hips rocked almost imperceptibly against Castiel's face, mashing his nose down, smearing lube and come over Castiel's cheeks.

"Not gonna let you shave next time," Dean murmured. Castiel broke off his attentions to Dean's ass with a shocked gasp. Dean was so close to Castiel's spent cock that his lips brushed the head as he spoke, hot air made the drying lube and come feel cold by contrast. "Wanna feel the hairs rub all over my ass, bet that'd feel awesome." Dean lapped gently at the moisture tangling Castiel's pubic hair and Castiel groaned directly against Dean's ass. "Did I say you could stop?"

"No sir," Castiel breathed. He had no idea if Dean could hear him, but it didn't matter. Castiel had a task to do. Determined not to incur further punishment, he worked his tongue in and out of Dean's hole as Dean rode his face and licked and sucked at Castiel's cock.

"Gonna see how many times I can make you come today," Dean said. "One so far. You have a personal record, boy?"

 _Only four times, Castiel? I'm disappointed. You can do better than that. You claim that you want me? My other subs have managed five, six, just from my touching them, just from my speaking, just from me_ promising _them pleasures without delivering them. I'm going to have to punish you until you learn to do better._

With a ragged moan, Castiel tore himself from Dean's ass, breathing hard. "Yellow," he mumbled. "I can't…don't ask me…"

"None of that matters," Dean whispered, diverting Castiel from the past by taking Castiel's flaccid cock into his mouth, licking, kissing, caressing. "What you do with _me_ is all that counts." Dean took Castiel deep again; Castiel expressed his appreciation by jamming his tongue as deeply into Dean's body as he could, locking his lips around Dean's hole to suck the semen free. Dean groaned and released Castiel's cock. "I'm going to blow your mind today, Cas. You good?"

Castiel swallowed loudly and Dean groaned again. "Yes, sir."

"Good boy."

Shuddering, Castiel reapplied himself with a will. The world narrowed to two points: Castiel's tongue in Dean's ass and Dean's mouth on his cock. Involuntarily, Castiel's hips rolled into the sultry heat until Dean made a discouraging sound and took a hold of him, stilling him harshly. Pain blossomed where each of Dean's fingers dug in to his flesh and Castiel's cock thickened. Moans and grunts ripped from Dean's lungs as Castiel worked, Dean's ass cheeks close about his face; Dean urged his ass closer to Castiel's face, closer again, pressing Castiel's head into the mattress, smashing his nose, filling him with the sickening scent of the strongly flavored lube which drowned out Dean's lovely, musky natural smell.

"Tongue fuck me harder, boy," Dean growled, nipping at the ridge around the head of Castiel's cock. Agony flared with each flick of teeth and Castiel turned huffed breaths and pained jerks of his body into firmer licks, deeper thrusts, spreading Dean as best he could over and over again. "Fuck – there, right there…" In his enthusiasm, Dean sat on his face. Castiel could scarce breath but he could feel every quiver that jostled Dean, every twitch, and he didn't stop, couldn't stop. Fingers massaged Castiel's erection, slipped within his foreskin to work at the tender flesh beneath, and he felt hot, so hot, light headed, every worry gone, there was only Dean's pleasure. Abruptly, Dean's hips pivoted back, his balls slapped Castiel's face, his erection brushed over his lips, and taking a guess – taking a chance – Castiel wrapped his mouth around the head of Dean's cock and sucked hard. Dean howled and thrust into Castiel's face, choking him on cock as Dean came. Semen filled his mouth and he spluttered around Dean's dick.

 _I did it._ Bliss twinkled in his head like the sky full of stars. _I got him off._ Rapture coursed through him like the sun burning through cloud cover. _I'm good enough._ Heat dowsed his body like sitting before a fire on a cold night. _My Dean, my master, my…mine. Mine. Mine._

"So good," Dean breathed. There was no longer a mouth on his cock, he realized, though Dean's hand yet gently manipulated his foreskin. Every touch flared new bursts of pleasure and there was a smacking sound as Dean licked his lips. "Two." Castiel hadn't realized he'd come again, he was too fuzzy, too elated with the knowledge that he'd made Dean feel good. _I came_ because _I made Dean feel good. I get to come because of what I can do for him_. The thought brought a glow of contentment to his breast. Tension drained from him and he eased against the mattress. Dean murmured vague praise against Castiel's thigh, rubbing the sensitive flesh with his stubbled cheeks, licking up splatters of come, earning shiver after shiver. Only when Castiel was clean did Dean swivel around to lie beside him, wrapping one arm beneath Castiel's head, the other around Castiel's chest.

Castiel wasn't sure how long they lay like that. It felt like a lifetime of contentment, the air slowly growing to feel chill against his skin, the sweat and moisture that had sheened both of their bodies drying. Dean used a single nail to rub over the same spot on Castiel's side over and over, lightly at first but then increasingly hard. The pain provided a grounding tingle, kept Castiel from drifting into a peaceful sleep.

"Ever since you told me you were getting' the job in Dallas, I've been thinkin' about what I'd want in a house out here." Dean's voice was hypnotically soft, lilting yet gruff, the breath that accompanied the words mussing the scattered hairs on Castiel's chest. As he spoke, Dean's chest rose and fell, pressing weight into Castiel's side. Lulled, Castiel's eyes drifted shut. "Between your income and mine, we can get pretty much whatever the fuck we want and still have plenty to spare. Lots of good work out this way, too, been surprised by that. I was thinkin' something big, out in the 'burbs, with lots of room to customize. I'd love a darkroom, and to have a studio in the house. Don't get me wrong, I'd want an outside studio, too, but…" Dean rolled away. Cold air rushed in, tingling at Castiel's hot skin, moistened by sweat where Dean had held him close. Goosebumps prickled along his sides, up his arms. Everything went fuzzy for a moment and when he came back to himself, he was mortified to realize he was whimpering, twisting against his restraints, straining towards Dean. Chuckling, Dean got off the bed. Stilling himself with difficulty, Castiel lifted his head to watch Dean's progress; Dean went to the drawers where he had stashed an impressive array of sex toys, pulled out two lengths of rope, and returned.

"…but I'd love to have somewhere in the house to work – somewhere I can work with you," Dean spoke casually as he looped the first rope around Castiel's ankle and secured the loose end to one of the bed posts. Strong, confident, minimal touches were all that Dean needed to bind Castiel, and Castiel squirmed, wishing for more, wishing for more sustained touch, for Dean to hold him until more bruises formed, for Dean to cuddle and coddle him until he slipped into comforted, wonderful sleep. He blinked and Dean suddenly stood beside him on the bed; a hand came down hard on Castiel's cock with the sharp slap of skin on skin. Pain washed his vision blank and he gasped and arched up. "Did I say that you could move, boy?"

"No!" Castiel exclaimed. "No, sir – I'm sorry, sir!" Frantic, he tried to calm himself. Dean lifted an arm, clearly gearing up for another hit, and Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and willed his body to stillness and ease. Instinct said to close his legs, protect his genitals, but he made himself relax, allowed his thighs to roll apart.

There was no keeping still when the blow fell.

Agony radiated through his cock and balls and Castiel screamed; Dean's fingers curled around his sacks and kneaded roughly. Jolts of pleasure spiked through the pervasive pain and Castiel's cry broke into a ragged sob.

"Good…good," murmured Dean, massaging away the discomfort until Castiel relaxed against the bed. Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean giving him a visual once over. Whatever he saw, he approved of, for he nodded and gently took his hands away from Castiel's aching dick. Arousal battled with pain and the ache of having already come twice; Castiel was half-hard, thickening between his legs. Dean circled around the bed and took up the second length of rope. "Where was I?" He tied Castiel's free ankle to the other bedpost with effortless, practiced skill, spreading Castiel's legs wide. "Right – studio. Of course, my work studio would be separate from the play room. I've always wanted a house big enough to accommodate a play room – a _true_ play room, the whole nine yards, Christian Gray 50 Shades of Gray without the douche baggery play room, ya know?" With two quick tugs, Dean tested the bindings and then he flopped down on the bed next to Castiel, not touching him. Unthinkingly, Castiel turned his head to look at Dean and got a quirked eyebrow and a disappointed twist of the mouth in return. Blushing, Castiel turned to look back at the ceiling. "Close your eyes, Cas."

"Yes, sir," said Castiel miserably, wondering what punishment was in store. How many times had he violated his orders? How many times had he moved?

"Picture it, ya know? I'm sick of this whole dungeon bullshit. I was thinking clean, well lit – walls painted white, that kind of thing. Just think how bright your blood would be against the pristine back drop." Castiel repressed a shudder. The image formed in his mind as Dean spoke. The room would be almost surgical in its perfection, cleaned and repainted after every scene. "The pads on the floor…" Dean's words and Castiel's fantasy merged and Castiel lost himself in populating a play room to Dean's specifications. The walls were white and the ceiling was embedded with large metal hooks arrayed to accommodate bindings of various kinds. Black pads softened the floor so that, should Castiel have to kneel or lay there, he wouldn't be bruised too badly. The pads would be removable, though, for those times when Dean _wanted_ Castiel to bruise badly. Furniture in light natural woods – maple, Dean suggested, stained pale – would hold the array of toys that they'd need. In loving detail, Dean described every dildo that would go in the top drawer, every ball gag that would go in the second, every rope that would hang from hooks in the armoire. How much Dean had thought about his perfect set up for domming was evident and Castiel could picture it crystal clear.

"What was that, Cas?"

He hadn't realized he'd made a noise, but he could feel it dying in his throat, strangled and animalistic. His cock was fully erect, throbbing pain and pleasure in turn.

"Something you want to know, boy?"

"How would…how would you use the toys?" Castiel asked, voice grown husky and low.

"Wanna know what I'd do to you in that room?" Dean was close enough that his breath spread dampness over Castiel's cheek but there was no touch, no contact between their bodies. "Wanna hear all the details of how I'd tie you to the wall, how I'd clamp you to the massage table, how I'd turn you over the spanking bench?" Each fragment flashed an image in Castiel's head of Dean using him, abusing him, pleasuring him. Every imagined touch flared through his body like a real one, his cock twitching and leaking, his muscles spasming.

"Yes – yes sir, please tell me," Castiel gasped.

"It'd be hard to choose at first," Dean mused. Though he tried to sound casual, Castiel could hear Dean's arousal in the deepness of his voice, the increasingly raspy quality of every word. "So many options. I could…" Words ceased to mean anything; Dean spun pure images and Castiel's mind converted those into fantasies, into feelings, and his body screamed for Dean to do everything he promised.

 _Ropes looped in complex patterns through the rings on the ceiling, binding every inch of Castiel's body so tightly that he couldn't move, so gently that he was supported almost painlessly. Even his cock was tied, a thick length wrapped around the base serving as a cock ring, stimulating him, engorging him. Dean had planned things perfectly, must have done hours of math in order to calculate the exact height at which Castiel needed to rest so that their bodies would line up. The hard part was done, though, and now Castiel dangled, suspended and helpless, as Dean rested on hands and knees beneath him, fucking himself on Castiel's immobile cock. The counterpoint between Dean's movements and the sway of the ropes was perfect, amplified every feeling as Castiel swung forward as Dean rocked back. Dean babbled bliss and Castiel would have joined him if not for the rope in his mouth. Instead, all he could do was feel and cry and fuck and pray that Dean would give him permission to come._

It was all Castiel could do not to thrust at air. He was so exposed, arms tied over his head, legs spread wide. Dean could touch him anywhere, touch him everywhere, and yet no touch came. His body screamed for it and moans leaked out with each panting breath he took. With every iota of willpower he could muster, he kept from moving, kept from begging.

 _Metal cuffs bound Castiel to the massage table that served as a work station for Dean's surgical approach to sadism. A cock cage kept Castiel flaccid but his balls were painfully tight with arousal as Dean mapped out a pattern over his abdomen. The tip of the sharpie was cold and strangely erotic as Dean drew a complex design, abstract curves that accentuated Castiel's natural curves and planes. Periodically, Dean would step back and observe what he'd created – observe what he'd made Castiel in to – before taking up his marker and adding another line, another circle, another color. Only when he was satisfied did he take up the knife and begin to cut. Castiel screamed as each shallow incision was made. The cuts weren't meant to scar; they were meant to bleed, they were meant to hurt, they were meant to adorn and decorate and ultimately heal without a trace. As blood ran down the curve of his stomach, smearing the sharpie lines, Dean stopped and took up his camera to photograph the gorgeous artwork he'd created._

"Please, Dean!"

"Since when does my boy get to call me by name unless I say he can?"

"Sir – please, sir, please!"

"Yes? What do you want?"

"Cut me, sir!"

"Maybe later, if you're good. This is your punishment, Cas."

"What…what should I…?"

"Always have wanted to get you off without touching you. This is your chance. If you come, we'll be clean slate, and we'll proceed from there. If not…"

 _The paddle struck Castiel's ass with a loud thwack, jogged the vibrator within his hole. God, he was so hard, so hot, but if he came he wouldn't be allowed to make love to Dean. If he came, Dean was going to make him wear the vibrator to work for a week, was going to require that he not come for a week, would add days every time Castiel failed and broke. All he wanted was to bury his aching dick in Dean's tight, prepped ass, but first he had to weather having his ass beaten red, first he had to somehow ride the waves of pleasure and pain that surged through his body each time the vibrator was jammed hard into his prostate._

"Touch me, touch me please!"

"No."

 _Dean sat in a leather arm chair like it was a throne, arms spread over the armrests, legs up on an ottoman, one foot stretched out towards Castiel, toes pointed like a dancer's. Complex bindings bound Castiel as he knelt on the floor, ropes encircling his torso, locking his legs together, leaving only his hands free. A cock ring fattened his dick, vibrating so powerfully that Castiel's eyes watered, a perfect match to the leaking slit of his cock. The lacey underwear that Dean had produced for Castiel to wear strained to contain him, sodden and cold with lube and pre-release. Castiel's hand shook as he tried to hold the small brush steady. Dean had warned him that if a single drop of nail polish went astray, there would be hell to pay._

"Dean – _sir_ – I…"

"Just let it happen, Cas…just relax into it…"

 _Like a horse brought to halter, Dean used the chain connecting the nipple clamps to steer Castiel. Every slight nudge and tug seared pain through the tight nubs; his cock bucked and dripped. Dean's cock was so thick it scarce fit through the large ring of the ball gag, specially designed to pry Castiel's mouth wide open and force him to swallow down whatever Dean wanted to shove through. Dean had gleefully demonstrated how this new toy worked, forcing Castiel to gag on a long zucchini, suck chocolate sauce from a tube, and work his throat over an enormous dildo. Somehow, Dean's cock seemed even larger than the toy had, but instead of ruthlessly fucking Castiel's face, Dean used the nipple clamp chain to pull Castiel closer to him and shove him back._

" _Come for me."_

 _Castiel choked on the dick buried down his throat. He wanted to come, he did, he was so close he burned with it, but Dean hadn't touched him. There was only the pain of clamps digging in to his breasts, the dryness of his throat long-exposed to the open air, the stretch of his jaw around the gag. He tried to speak but no sound could come out. Confusion swamped him. Of course he couldn't talk, he was wearing a ball gag. Wasn't he?_

" _Gotta be now, Cas, or else…"_

With a gasping groan, Castiel's body seized up, his cock burned and managed a pathetic spurt of come, and tears leaked from his eyes as the dry orgasm incinerated him. A ragged sob tore from his throat, another, his mouth was parched, every muscle ached, ropes dug into his wrists and ankles and he thrashed against the restraints.

 _No, no I'm supposed to be still, I'm supposed to paint his nails – suck his cock – have to be good, have to take care of him, have to be…_

Gentle fingers carded down his chest and Castiel bucked into the contact. Trails of fire followed every touch, he tensed and came again, sobbing, unsure why the apologies rattling through his brain weren't coming out of his mouth.

"Shh."

Dean was nearby. He didn't sound angry.

"Absolutely. Fucking. Beautiful."

He sounded awed.

"Can you open your eyes for me, Cas?"

Gummy gunk sealed them shut, tears streaming from beneath the closed lids.

"It's okay if you move. It's okay, you're okay."

 _Had he given me permission before? Was I so gone I missed it?_

"Gonna touch your eyes."

The promised brush of fingers came a moment later, cleaning away the mess, and Castiel blinked. Wetness blurred his vision, Dean's thumbs obscured half the world as he wiped beneath Castiel's eyelids, and when his sight resolved he could see Dean, Godlike in his perfection as he straddled Castiel's hips and hovered over his body.

"There we go."

A broad smile showed a mouth of gleaming white teeth. The light in the room caught the golden highlights of Dean's gorgeous eyes, the golden smattering of freckles that dotted his cheeks and shoulders, the golden hairs that made a trail down his torso to make a thick nest around his erect cock.

"Was I good enough, sir?" Mealy mouthed, Castiel struggled to form the words.

"Perfect, Cas." Dean leaned back, weight partially resting on Castiel's cock, spurring pain that forced a whimper from him. Staring Castiel in the eye, Dean wrapped a hand around his cock. "So perfect." He stroked himself vigorously, unhesitatingly, hard and fast. "My perfect boy." Throwing his head back, breaking eye contact, Dean groaned. Castiel stared, mesmerized, at Dean's stroking hand, his leaking cock, the play of the muscles of his thighs and abs. "See what you do to me?" His hips worked up into his grip, his words broke around guttural sounds. "You do this – only you – fuck, you drive me crazy, you—" With a base groan, Dean came, thin strips of white decorating Castiel's belly. For a moment Dean sat there, cupping his cock, breathing hard, and then he reached down and ran his fingers through the come pooling at Castiel's belly button. Droplets forming on his fingers, Dean reached out, hovered the hand over Castiel's mouth, and Castiel strained up to lick the release. Dean shuddered and whispered, "Perfect."

Lost in sensation, ready to be whatever Dean needed, neither spoke until every drop of come was cleaned up. Dean smeared the streaks onto his fingers and held them over Castiel's mouth as he dutifully cleaned up with mess. Only when there wasn't a trace did Dean say, with a mischievous look in his eye, "Ready for round four?" Castiel groaned but nodded.

Despite Dean's words, he made no move to touch Castiel sexually for an unknown amount of time. Instead, Dean leaned down and rested on Castiel's chest, pressing their bodies together, riding each of Castiel's inhales and exhales. Castiel took the opportunity to center himself once more, to relax. His cock tingled and throbbed, spent, and his thoughts drifted. He was primed for obedience. Nothing existed except Dean's presence; nothing mattered beyond what Dean asked of him next. Anticipation thrummed through him, nervousness about his adequacy. Dean wanted him to come again. Castiel wasn't sure he could do it, but he'd try.

Eventually, Dean moved, rose, rummaged through the sex toy drawer and returned with a thin length of metal.

"Do you know what this is, Cas?" he asked, holding it up. Lamp light glittered down the length of the dowel.

"No," he admitted. More than anything, it looked like a chopstick, or maybe a container for pen ink.

"It's a sound," Dean explained. Castiel nodded in understanding. They'd talked about this, talked about trying it, and Castiel had agreed that he'd be willing. At Castiel's acknowledgement, Dean smiled, grabbed the lubricant from the nightstand and liberally smeared the metal. "Just relax. We'll take it easy. I'm stupid excited to try something you've never done before. I'm like 99% sure this is the right size but on the off chance it's not, we'll have to wait cause it's the only one I brought with me."

"Yes, sir," Castiel mumbled. Nothing Dean said processed quite right but the gist came across. Going limp against the bed, he closed his eyes and waited.

Hot, goopy fingers took hold of Castiel's limp cock.

"Cas." There was something sharp to Dean's voice. Concerned, Castiel looked up at him. "Color?"

"Green." He dropped his head back and went back to drifting. He was fine. He was absolutely fine.

"Good – good…" Dean held Castiel's cock firmly, cradling it, and there was a tug at the slit at the head of his cock and a flare of pleasure. The smooth, convex tip of the sound slipped into his body, accompanied by an even more intense wave of bliss and a tingle of pain. Way eased by lube, the metal rod glided in easily and Castiel's eyes flew open at the bizarre _full_ feeling of it.

"Sir!"

"How's that feel?" Dean continued to hold him but made no move to touch the metal. Craning his neck, Castiel could just see the end sticking out of his body, the rest embedded deeply in his cock. A part of his mind screamed to urinate and clear the obstruction, another part begged for the rod to move. The hard metal pressed against sensitive places, skimmed by them easily, applied light pressure to his prostate. Muscles he didn't know he had tensed and relaxed in his urethra. Dean rubbed his cock gently _around_ the sound and Castiel choked on his answer.

"S'ok," he managed. "Dunno…it's…"

"I'm going to remove it and add more lube, 'kay?"

Another gasp ripped from Castiel, back arching off the bed, as Dean pulled the sound clear. Pleasure rippled outward, strange and different than anything he'd felt before. Dean filled one palm with lube and ran the sound through the pool, coating it completely, and then lined the sound up once more, penetrated the tip of Castiel's cock and let the sound slide home once more.

"Oh…" Castiel breathed in wonder. It felt better this time, better still as the tip came to rest on _something_ within him – his prostate, maybe? – nudging and poking.

"That sounds like a positive reaction," Dean grinned at him. "So, we're gonna experiment a little. Different dudes like different stuff. Some guys just like having it in there, but judging by how you're reacting so far…" Dean took a hold of the slick end of the sound and pulled it out maybe an inch. There was something surreal about watching the metal emerge from his body but the way it felt was undeniably fantastic. Castiel had accepted his enjoyment of far weirder things; this was hardly a blip on his radar. Releasing the sound, Dean and Castiel both stared as it slid back into him and Castiel groaned. "…I'd say you're one of the ones who enjoys getting the inside of your dick fucked by a metal rod. Now, most important thing – sounding often hurts a smidge but if you feel any sharp pain, you tell me _immediately_. Sounds can be damn dangerous and if we puncture something, well, yeah. That'd be shit. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Close your eyes, boy."

With a content smile, Castiel obeyed. His muscles were lax, his head heavy with sensation, and Dean took a hold of the sound and gently worked it in and out of Castiel's cock. There was a tingle of pain, a constant renewal of the over-full feeling, a strange buzzing sensation in his bladder, but mostly there were ever-amplifying waves of pleasure. Bliss suffused him, itched under his skin. Every breath was a gasp, and only Dean's weight over his thighs kept Castiel from humping at the air.

"Some people prefer this." Dean sounded impossibly far away, words fuzzy and meaningless. The sound settled deep within Castiel and a firm touch ran over Castiel's perineum, catching the sensitive skin between finger and sound. Castiel jerked and groaned. "Calmly, Cas; if you can't keep still we'll have to stop. Not gonna risk hurting you. Okay?"

All he wanted was for Dean to do that again. He _needed_ it, craved it like oxygen.

The touch disappeared, the pressure disappeared. Castiel whimpered in distress.

"Asked you a question, boy," Dean snapped. The harsh tone seized Castiel's thoughts, dragged him back to himself.

"Whaquesion?" slurred Castiel. Dean sighed.

"Can you keep still for me, Cas?"

"Oh." Castiel blinked, caught flickering glimpses of Dean watching him intently, and tried to smile. "Anything for you, sir."

"Last chance," said Dean. "I know it's tough but you gotta stay with me enough to let me know if something goes wrong."

"Anything, sir," Castiel repeatedly happily. _Just please touch me again_.

Dean chuckled and the finger returned, rubbing over Castiel's perineum in a slow, rhythmic motion that started at the base of his balls and traced down towards his taint over and over again. The longer Dean continued, the harder it became to keep still, the harder it grew to retain any sense at all. Nothing had ever felt like this. It wasn't _better_ than other intense sexual experiences he'd had but it was unique, different, and that enhanced every sensation. Broken whimpers leaked from Castiel. He tried to shift, to lay his arms beneath his ass to ensure that he held them still, but they wouldn't move and he couldn't remember why not. After a moment's concern, he let it go. Dean took care of him. Dean would make sure he didn't get hurt. If there was anything seriously wrong with his arms, Dean would know and address the issue.

"Then, some people prefer this."

The words were meaningless but the touch that was followed jolted yet another sensation through Castiel as one of Dean's slick fingers slid into his ass, found his prostate and began to massage. The sound pressed at him from another angle and the combination was blindingly intense. Castiel tried to blink to clear his vision but, eyes open or eyes closed, there was nothing but brilliant, dazzling light. Time passed in bursts of bliss and moments of intense feeling and gasps that rang loud in his ears. He had no idea how long, only that he was being driven higher and higher. His cock yet rested limp between his legs, stuffed full with the metal rod, but it didn't matter. Castiel knew from past experience he could come when soft, and—

"And of course, there are some stimulating combinations."

The sound shifted within him, lifted and dropped again as Dean continued to massage his prostate. Castiel choked. Dean did it again, and a sound like an endless beep filled Castiel's ears. Dean did it a third time, the sound nestled against his insides, a finger squeezed against the nub within him and Castiel _shattered_ with a howl, hips bucking up beneath Dean. No mental wherewithal could possibly keep him from moving. He was an agonized, enraptured ball of pure sensation.

"Four," Dean whispered.

Exhaustion beat at Castiel's senses, assaulted his mind. He couldn't find the energy to open his eyes. Dean was speaking, he thought, but he couldn't resolve the sounds into anything with meaning. Hands touched his ankles, his arms, and a pressure he couldn't account for released, and then there were arms under his back, levering him up and over. With a pained groan, Castiel flopped onto his stomach and lay unmoving. He was so limp that Dean had to adjust his head to clear a way for him to breathe.

"Stay with me." Dean's voice was a million miles away speaking directly into his ear.

 _Stay…Dean wants me…_

"Yours."

Castiel was fairly sure sound came out of his mouth, fairly sure he spoke.

"Do you want to stop?"

Something was missing. Something wasn't okay. It took an infinity of combing through fragments of consciousness before Castiel realized what it was.

"Feather," he mouthed into the bedding. Suspecting he was incomprehensible, he tried again. "Cut a feather."

Dean shuddered against him. "Try for five?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Castiel replied. He wasn't entirely sure what he was agreeing to but Dean sounded so _hopeful_ and Castiel would never disappoint him.

What followed came to Castiel more as sensations than any actual awareness of what was happening. Nothing this intense had ever felt so good; he was completely gone on Dean's voice and touch and promised pleasures. There were hands on his ass, in and out, cold lube spreading in his body. His cock thickened, painful against the blankets that he could have sworn were soft. Sounds, rich and lovely, echoed in his ears, in his head, but they meant nothing. A warm noise wrapped around him like a blanket and Dean shifted Castiel's body, adjusted his cock into a more comfortable position. Despite that, Castiel throbbed, a bone-deep ache as he was pushed to his limit over and over again.

Something firm pressed against his ass and he spread to it, stretched, and he groaned s weight settled within him, settled over him. The only way he knew it was Dean's cock and not a toy was the pressure of Dean's hips pressing into him. Words with a questioning tone reached him.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, hoping it was an adequate reply. It must have been, for Dean thrust into him once, twice, and then stilled.

Agony lanced through his back. Castiel screamed. Dean thrust once and pleasure, indistinguishable from the pain, drove him higher. Buried deep in his body, Dean made a second incision and then thrust again. Again, and again, Dean fucked him and cut him and Castiel sobbed into the bedding. This was too much. Dean had finally found Castiel's limit, and it was having Dean slice new feathers into his back while stuffing his ass full and rubbing his cock against the bedding. On and on it went and Castiel could do nothing but drown in the feelings, scarce remembering to breath around the increasingly fractured, weak noises that emerged from him. Dean spoke – swear words or praise or awe or wonder or all of it or nothing at all – and in his mind Castiel begged Dean to stop, begged Dean to _never ever_ stop, but not a sound escaped. There was a peak to his pleasure, he thought, a moment when the world ceased to exist, when the pain escalated so far that Castiel's mouth stretched wide over a silent expression of all the feeling bursting under and over and through his shredded skin, but there was no crash afterwards and he had no idea what that meant, no idea how to process anything.

Dimly, he realized that the difference between this and everything he'd ever done before was that Dean wanted Castiel to experience pleasure, and Dean was a master at creating bliss in his sub.

Castiel returned to himself to find that he was on his back once more. Tight heat closed over the head of his cock and he moaned pitifully.

"Fuck," groaned Dean, hips bucking backwards, "fuck…I have got to feel this, got to feel you…" Dean looked as gone as Castiel felt, though he clearly had some modicum of self-control. Castiel had none. He lay, skin filthy, back throbbing, body aching, as Dean rode him slow and sweet. After everything else they'd done, coming full circle to how they'd started the scene was surreal.

 _Or did we do anything? Or has Dean simply narrated all the things he wished to do – have I imagined it all?_

Castiel didn't think it was all in his head. His body ached too much, his thoughts were too fuzzy, his mouth too dry, his skin too slathered with spit and tears and come and lube, for everything to have been fantasy. Yet Dean was over him once more, riding him once more, and every downward thrust forced a guttural grunt from Castiel. Attempts at other sounds failed; all he could manage was the broken stutter that snarled every breath. With gentle thrusts and perfect swaying hips and soft lips and heat and kindly words, Dean rode Castiel into oblivion.

* * *

"We're done, Cas."

There was an arm under his spine, holding him. Mustering a little strength, Castiel flopped bonelessly forward, only to be caught by something strong and warm.

"Dean."

"Yeah." Dean spoke softly. There were layers of meaning in his tone, not a single one of which Castiel could identify.

"Six," Castiel giggled.

"In less than four hours," agreed Dean. "Fuck, even I got off four times."

"Everything hurts," Castiel giggled harder. There was a moment's stunned silence and then Dean laughed against him.

"Geeze, Cas, you are something else."

" 'm not," Castiel couldn't stop laughing, "I'm me."

"Right-o," Dean's weight shifted and Castiel made a petulant, unhappy sound. "Gotta get you in a bath, Cas."

"No."

"You're filthy."

"I don't want to move."

"You'll like the water."

"Won't."

A chime interrupted Dean before he could answer. Abruptly, Dean's weight vanished from beside him and Castiel collapsed onto his side on the bed. It wasn't a comfortable position; the cuts on his back tugged and tore, the muscles of his abdomen and pelvis screamed aches and pains, and pressure on his cock jabbed through him like a kick to the testicles, but he couldn't find the wherewithal to move.

"For fuck's sake, Cas…" Dean's eye roll was audible. An arm wrapped around Castiel's waist and yanked him upright again. "Can you open your eyes at least?"

"Maybe," Castiel giggled again because he was genuinely unsure if he could get his eyes to open. It took a few tries but finally his vision resolved. The light in the room was painfully bright, though it was only the same two inadequate lamps that had been there all along. Dean was gazing at him with a mix of astonishment, exasperation and amusement. Their eyes met, and Dean held the cell phone up for him to see.

 _Garth Fitzgerald (2:42 PM): The jury has returned a guilty verdict against both defendants on all counts._

 _Garth Fitzgerald (2:43 PM): Judge Mills has called a one hour recess while she considers sentencing._

 _Garth Fitzgerald (4:30 PM): 20 years for Naomi Tapping, a fine of $50,000, possibility for parole in 10 years. 8 years for Zachariah Adler, a fine of $10,000, possibility for parole in 2 years._

 _Garth Fitzgerald (4:31 PM): It's over. You've won._

There was another chime and a new text came.

 _Garth Fitzgerald (4:32 PM): Congratulations, Castiel._

Laughter over took him, jostling every place that hurt, cascading joy through his body. Dean grinned, equally elated. Neither spoke. There were no words for the relief that Castiel felt, the vindication, the _freedom_ that came from knowing that it'd be years before either Naomi or Zachariah could come near him.

"Bath?" Dean suggested.

Castiel shook his head. With the tension from the trial dissipated in an instant, he was too gone to move. Slumping back, he closed his eyes. It was done. He was free, he was safe, and he was going to move to Dallas. He was going to be with Dean.

Nothing was getting him off that bed.

* * *

Endnote: One chapter left...it's already partially written...so close, guys, so close! Thanks for sticking with me through all of this! Hope you liked that Scene...I'm like 95% sure it's the longest smut scene I've ever written...


	7. Chapter 7

Checking his watch for the zillionth time that day, Castiel reminded himself that Dean couldn't make it back to Dallas before 5 PM. With the trial over, it had been necessary for Dean to return to Kansas City for a few days, and despite how well things were coming together it would be weeks – months – before they lived together. Only the pleasantly unpleasant aches lingering from their extended scene reassured Castiel when he was lowest about the prospect of their separation. The popularity of Dean's photography business meant that he had shoots booked as much as a year ahead of time. Moving didn't negate those contracts. For now, Castiel took up residence in Dallas and Dean would split his time, transferring his clientele gradually. This time, Dean could only visit for the weekend, and only because a wedding had cancelled at the last minute. Even had Dean been able to stay in Dallas, it wouldn't have mattered. Castiel was flying to Columbus on Monday to meet with Joshua. He'd be staying for a week, wrapping up his affairs there, packing his few belongings and putting them in storage, and meeting with a realtor to discuss selling his home there.

Their weekend together wouldn't be leisurely. What few breaks Castiel had from consolidating his position at Sandover were spent looking at house listings. Alfie had recommended a local real estate agent, and the chain of e-mails that Dean, Castiel and the agent – a woman named Sarah – had exchanged was over 100 messages long. Dean and Castiel would be touring the first ten houses over the weekend. There were hours to go before Dean would arrive and Castiel had a slew of things he needed to complete before he could, in good conscience, leave the office for two entire days.

First, Castiel needed to finish the draft of the contract he was working on.

Second, he had to get through his e-mails.

Third, Anna needed debriefing before she departed for Rabat.

Fourth—

"Hello, Castiel."

Castiel's head jerked up. Alastair stood at the door to Castiel's office, relaxed and in his element in an expensive suit. A moment's panic devoured Castiel's thoughts and then, to his surprise, his mind went blank and peaceful.

"Good afternoon, Alastair." He sounded flat, emotionless.

"Expecting someone?" Alastair's lips curled into a sneer, his snide voice too knowing. His black gaze never left Castiel's face.

 _What did he do to Dean?_

"No, actually," Castiel replied, refusing to rise to be cowed.

 _Dean must be alright._

He resisted the urge to grab his cell phone and text Dean. He wouldn't let Alastair see him perturbed. He wouldn't let Alastair perturb him.

"Really? Lover-boy let you down already?" Alastair shook his head in mock regret, crossed the room and sat down in the visitor's seat facing Castiel's desk.

Lifting the phone receiver, Castiel dialed the internal line. It rang once, twice – through the glass wall of his office he could hear the answering echo of the phone ringing on Alfie's desk. Glancing out, he realized the executive assistant wasn't there. That explained how Alastair had gotten in the office without Alfie stopping him. Unfortunately, Castiel knew how Alastair had gotten in the building. During the trial preparation, Alastair had been added to the free admittance list, and Castiel had forgotten to remove him. A stupid oversight, the kind of mistake Castiel never would have made if he weren't so busy consolidating his position and picking up the threads of jobs Adler had left half-finished. Castiel set the phone down and dialed the security desk instead.

"Sandover Security, Henriksen speaking."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Henriksen. Would you please remove Alastair Rolston from the list of those permitted in the building?" Castiel stared Alastair down as he spoke. Alastair smiled as if he hadn't a care. Castiel's heart beat quickened, his stomach fluttered with nerves, but he kept his face impassive. He was in control of himself. He was in control of this situation. As with any scene, with any dom, Alastair had no more power than Castiel chose to grant him.

"Absolutely, sir," Henriksen said. "Would you like us to come upstairs and remove him from the building?"

"No, thank you," Castiel replied. "I will handle this intrusion." He hung up.

"Oh?" Alastair smiled coldly. "Think you can _handle_ me, Castiel?"

"I know I can," said Castiel.

"Dean's managed to work a little stiffness into that flimsy, cowardly spine of yours." Somehow, Alastair loomed over Castiel despite the desk between them. Every inch of Alastair's impressive height went into making him appear intimidating.

 _Naomi and Adler are in prison. The trial is done. I am dating someone I love and who loves me. Alastair and I are in a public place, in an office building staffed by armed security guards._

 _Alastair can't hurt me_.

 _I have nothing to be afraid of_.

"You don't scare me," Castiel said steadily.

"Good boy," Alastair smiled and showed yellowing teeth. "But, then, that's what makes you an appealing option for a pet. Naomi taught you fear and respect, but she didn't _break_ you. A submissive like you needs that, needs to be completely subsumed by their owner's will before real progress can be made."

 _I thought I could fix you, Cas. But you're broken. You were broken before we ever met._

"Why did you come here, Mr. Rolston?"

 _You're worth the effort, though. I'll do my best to fix you, I promise. All you have to do is whatever I tell you to do – everything I tell you to do. You can do that for me, right, Castiel?_

With difficulty, Castiel pushed the past away and focused on the problem at hand. Alastair's decision to ambush Castiel at his job, his presence in Castiel's office, made no sense. After the care Alastair had shown to acquit himself of wrong-doing in the past, after how he'd targeted Dean over and over again since arriving in Dallas, Castiel could think of no logical reason why Alastair had come.

"I've missed seeing you," Alastair lamented.

Unless, by coming to speak to Castiel, Alastair _was_ targeting Dean. Castiel's thoughts raced with possibilities. Maybe Alastair had told Dean he was going to hurt Castiel. Maybe Alastair intended to hurt Castiel and leave him for Dean to find. Maybe Alastair had waylaid Dean during his drive south. Maybe Alastair had finally demanded his favor if Dean and Castiel had been offered up as a prize. No, Dean would never do that. Whatever Alastair intended, whatever plan he'd set in motion, it would hurt Dean – possibly hurt both of them – and Castiel needed to find a way to thwart him.

"It'd been long enough since I heard your voice that I could no longer imagine how sweet your screams would sound when I flay the skin from your body."

Struggling to concoct a plan on the fly, Castiel glanced at his phone and said, "Excuse me, I have to take this."

"I know no one is there."

Alastair was right. There was no one there.

"Hello, this is Novak."

Castiel needed time to think.

"After all these years, after everything you've been through, how can you believe that a knight will ride to your rescue?"

He needed to keep Alastair talking. Was he imagining the frustration tinging Alastair's drawl? If Castiel baited Alastair enough, irritated Alastair with his determination not to be cowed, would Alastair say or do something he shouldn't? Did men like Alastair make mistakes?

 _Naomi made a mistake eventually. She made many mistakes, which I would have caught if only I'd been paying attention. My eyes are open now. Alastair doesn't control me. Naomi doesn't control me. Dean doesn't control me. Alastair came to me, he's on my turf, and I have the power in this interaction._

 _I've always had the power, I just had to find the strength to use it._

"Excuse me, you're making it difficult to hear my caller."

Sooner or later, Alastair would make a mistake, and Castiel would catch it as long he kept his wits about him.

"And to believe that _Dean_ is that knight in shining armor? You'd weep to know _half_ the things he's done."

Dean was Alastair's target. Dean had _always_ been Alastair's target.

"I'm sorry, I'll have to call you back."

Even sitting in Castiel's office, taunting Castiel, hinting at the dark knowledge he had about Dean's past, Alastair's goal wasn't to hurt Castiel. It was to hurt Dean.

"Uriel – I'm sorry, Mr. Wisdom – showed the jury a _delightful_ video of Dean. One of my personal favorites. You know, with proper training, Dean could be a true _artiste_.Unfortunately, watching my boy in his element wasn't enough to sway them to make the right decision, such a pity, but I think you'd find it educational."

 _He wants me to worry. He wants me to doubt. He wants me to think that Dean is dangerous, untrustworthy. He wants me to believe that Dean will hurt me. I'm the weapon to use against Dean. If I could be compelled or deceived into leaving Dean, that would hurt Dean profoundly._

 _If Alastair understood love at all, he'd know how futile this plan is. But he doesn't, because he's a sociopath._

The longer Castiel sat silently, letting the pieces fall into place, the wider Alastair's grin grew. Alastair thought his plan was working. He thought he was upsetting Castiel.

 _I could tell him I understand, tell him to leave, tell him to never come back. That won't work, though. Dean's stopped speaking with him and asked him to leave, so Alastair is trying another tactic. He has no respect for me, so why should he respect any request I make?_

 _There is no long term solution to make him leave short of getting him arrested and incarcerated for something._

 _Short term, though…_

"You're curious, I can see it in your eyes," Alastair smiled, speaking quietly. "You think you know Dean, think you know what he's capable of. You have no idea – but I can show you."

"Fine," Castiel said. "Show me."

Without asking permission, Alastair swiveled Castiel's computer monitor around, grabbed the keyboard and navigated to a plain website. Clicking around the screen, he cued up a video, then turned to stare at Castiel, smiling.

Dean was splattered with blood, clutching a knife, his expression hard. Years younger, he was more beautiful than handsome, but a cruel twist to his lips marred that beauty. A dark-haired woman – Meg Masters, Castiel recognized her from the photographs he'd seen in the Enquirer article – was strapped to a surgical table, sobbing and panting.

"Stop, Dean," she pled, "I can't – I can't take any more. It hurts. Please stop!"

There was no pity on Dean's face as he stabbed her in the side. Straining against her bindings, she screamed her throat raw and Dean stood aside and stared at the blade that heaved and tore her flesh with every desperate breath she took.

"You're doing great," said Alastair's voice from off camera. "Let's see how she reacts to the blade striking her left scapula."

"No, no, stop!"

The video continued, torture in its purest form, and Castiel took slow, calm breaths and refused to be moved. It had been a decade ago. Meg hadn't safe-worded. _Did she have a safe-word? Did she have any choice at all?_ _Even if she did, would Dean have listened? Would Alastair have allowed Dean to listen?_ No matter how the video appeared, no matter what light it cast Dean in, there was no forgetting who the true perpetrator was. Alastair narrated the scene from the darkness beyond the camera lens and Dean did everything Alastair said, wearing disdane and aloofness like a mask over the uncertainty and concern tightening his eyes.. Dean was a victim as surely as Meg was.

The footage stopped and a new clip began. This time, a man was strapped to the gurney. Dean was even younger and Alastair stood at his side. Tears streaked Dean's face as Alastair guided him through every cut until the victim looked like he was bathed in blood. A third video began, Dean strapped to the table, howling and begging Alastair to stop as Alastair cut and expressed his disappointment at how pathetic Dean was. On and on it went, recording after recording. Alastair said nothing. Castiel let horror wash over him, around him, past him. Finally, the last screams fell silent, the last video froze on a shot of a woman's face contorted in agony.

Nothing Castiel saw led him to doubt Dean or doubt his own love.

Dean had done terrible things, often willingly and unprompted, but there was nothing surprising about the content of the videos. Castiel was sympathetic, pained to know that Dean had suffered so much, that Alastair's victims had suffered so much and – he could confess to himself – a little turned on. Dean had gotten off on Alastair describing Castiel being tortured and Castiel got off on watching Dean torturing others.

No wonder they got along so well. They were _both_ broken.

"I underestimated you, Castiel." The silence in the room shattered. Castiel blinked and realized he'd been staring at a blank computer screen for unknown seconds, unknown minutes. "You like what you see?"

"Yes." There was no point in lying. Alastair was too skilled at reading people to miss the truth.

"You're _wasted_ on Dean." Carpet rustled as Alastair pushed his chair back and circled the desk to stand behind Castiel. "I could—"

"If you lay one hand on me without my consent I will have you arrested for assault," said Castiel.

"Dean will never be able to give you what you need," Alastair continued as if Castiel hadn't interrupted, but the touch never landed. "You've seen what kind of dom he is – what kind of man he is. Has he told you any of the terrible things he's done?" _Yes, he told me everything_. "Of course he didn't. He's a child, afraid to scare you away. He doesn't understand the kind of discipline that a man like you needs. I do understand."

 _You understand nothing. You're nothing but a sad, pathetic excuse for a human being._

"You'd like to be my dom?" Castiel asked, proud of how steady he sounded, proud of the hint of interest he imbued his voice with.

 _And you're not going to get away with anything, not this time_.

"You're a beautiful creature." Alastair was so close behind him that fetid breath ghosted over the back of Castiel's neck. A tingle of fear threaded down his spine, raised the hairs on his arms. "I would be _honored_ to be the dom to teach you proper submission."

Castiel let the words hang in the air, schooled his expression to appear conflicted, curious, frightened, and said, "I'll think about it."

"You know how to reach me when you're ready."

"Yes – yes, I do."

"Every good sub, every _true_ sub, wants nothing more than to find a dom to put them in their place. I am that dom, Castiel. I expect to hear from you shortly."

Scarce daring to breathe lest he give away the lie behind his behavior, Castiel watched Alastair stroll casually from the room. Castiel stared after the Alastair as he waited for the elevator, stepped on to it, and disappeared behind the closing door.

Releasing an explosive breath killed the tension that bound Castiel in place. With a shaking hand, he reached out and took up the receiver on his office phone. He scrolled through the company's internal phone book until he found the number he needed and dialed it.

"IT, this is Johnston."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Johnston, this is Castiel Novak."

"Mr. Novak! Oh…wow…uh…is everything okay with your computer? Do you need me to come upstairs?"

"Am I correct in understanding that the company's firewall keeps records of everything accessed by employees?"

"Not exactly. It keeps a log, and larger files are stored on local servers that are purged of non-essential files every 24 hours."

"And if there was something in the temporary server that we needed to keep?"

"It's been less than 24 hours?"

"It's been less than 10 minutes."

"Then I can retrieve it for you, yeah. What, download a file and then accidentally delete it?"

"Something like that. Please access and save all the videos that were viewed on my desktop in the last hour."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Johnston?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't watch them."

Heart pounding, Castiel hung up, grabbed his cell phone, navigated through his contacts, and selected _Garth Fitzgerald_. It rang twice and Castiel was convinced Fitzgerald wouldn't answer when—

"This ADA Fitzgerald, what's your crime?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Fitzgerald," Castiel said breathlessly. Considering how excited he was, he was amazed that he could get the words out intelligibly.

"Hey, Novak! Things good?" Fitzgerald sounded sincerely pleased.

"I think I've got another case for you," replied Castiel. "Are you available to come to my office?"

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Sure, I've got some time between meetings. I'll be there in ten."

"Thank you."

"You're not locked in your office again, are you?"

"No."

"Good. Glad to hear it."

The line went dead.

 _We've got him. We've really got him._

 _I got the justice I deserve. I got closure, and now Dean can get his._

For the first time in his life, Castiel began to believe in happy endings.

* * *

 _Dean (5:30 PM): You're not back at the hotel yet._

 _Dean (5:31 PM): Everything okay?_

 _Castiel (5:35 PM): The answer to that is complicated. No, everything is not okay. However, I think things will be okay. I take it from your message that you've arrived?_

Fitzgerald was watching one of the incriminating videos, wide-eyed.

 _Castiel (5:36 PM): I think it would be best if you come to the Sandover building._

"You realize that if I call the police and have them arrest Rolston, I'll have to arrest Winchester as well?" said Fitzgerald, pausing the latest clip. Alastair froze as he took a stapler to the abdomen of an unknown young woman.

 _Dean (5:38 PM): You freak the shit out of me when you hint at stuff but don't tell me wtf you're talking about._

"If Dean testifies against Rolston, won't that need be obviated?" Castiel asked.

 _Dean (5:39 PM): omw_

 _Dean (5:39 PM): That means on my way._

"Potentially," Fitzgerald said slowly. He used the mouse to run the video back about 30 seconds and hit play. The victim's face contorted, tears leaked from her eyes and she shrieked, struggling to form the words to beg Alastair to stop.

 _Castiel (5:41 PM): Alastair came to speak to me at work today. I was able to obtain incriminating evidence about him. I'm currently meeting with Mr. Fitzgerald._

 _Dean (5:42 PM): Oh._

"Dean will be here in a few minutes."

Fitzgerald nodded and stopped the playback again. Johnston had brought them up burned on to a CD, white-faced and trembling. Castiel hadn't needed Johnston's apology to know he'd made the mistake of watching them. It was strange to consider how objectively horrific the videos were, considering how similar the contents were to things that Castiel had done.

"We need to do this by the book," said Fitzgerald reluctantly.

"I understand," Castiel nodded. "May I warn Dean?"

"Guess it depends, think he'll cut and run?" Fitzgerald asked.

Castiel shook his head. "He feels guilty, and he hates Alastair. As long as he understands what's happening and why, I don't think he'll cause any trouble." Fitzgerald nodded absently and stared at the still image on the screen, a considering look on his boyish face. Castiel picked up his cell phone again.

 _Castiel (5:46 PM): I've turned over videos of Alastair's sadism to the ADA. You're in the videos. Fitzgerald informs me that he'll have to arrest you. I believe that if you cooperate you'll not be in trouble. I'm sorry Dean it wasn't my intention to get you in trouble._

 _Dean (5:48 PM): So if I come to the Sandover building I'll be arrested?_

It was impossible from the simple text to determine if Dean was upset, and nerves thrummed beneath Castiel's skin.

 _Castiel (5:49 PM): Yes._

Seconds passed. A fancy clock that Adler had liked sat on a pointless, small table and ticked maddeningly. Castiel made a mental note to get rid of the clock at his earlier opportunity and stared at his phone, waiting for Dean to reply. A minute when by, two minutes, five minutes. The screen went black and Castiel continued to stare.

"Everything okay?" asked Fitzgerald, sympathy thick in his voice. "I'm sorry it's gotta be this way, but if it looks like I'm showing favoritism the entire case will be compromised."

"I know," Castiel said. "Neither of us wants that." The computer screen went dark as the screensaver finally kicked in. The horrid image vanished and in its absence a spell seemed to break. Fitzgerald shook his head, pulled the CD out of the disk drive and grabbed his phone.

Castiel's phone chimed and the screen lit up. Grabbing it, he read Dean's text.

 _Dean (5:55 PM): Henriksen said he'd let me send you a text before putting the hand cuffs on._

 _Dean (5:56 PM): I forgot how hot it is to have a handsome son of a bitch wrapping metal around my wrists. Remind me next time I'm planning a scene._

 _Dean (5:56 PM): Everything's gonna be fine. I love you Cas._

"Yes, everything is fine. Our security is arresting Dean and will hold him until the Dallas police arrive."

"Awesome," Fitzgerald said as he scrolled through phone screens. "I'm on this, Castiel. If possible, we'll have him back to you tonight. Tomorrow, definitely. Even if I have to stay up all night, okay?"

"Thank you, Fitzgerald. You're a good man."

"You're not so bad yourself," Fitzgerald gave him a half smile and strolled from the office, holding the phone to his ear. He started to speak but the words were cut off as the office door shut behind him.

If Dean was going to spend the night in prison, Castiel might as well stay at the office and work. But first…

Taking up the ugly clock, he rose and carried it to the executive bathroom that he would never use again. When he needed the facilities he took the stairs to the 19th floor and used the bathroom there instead. Standing in the marble tiled room made Castiel feel sick, brought back memories of how he'd allowed himself to be used by Adler in one of the pristine bathroom stalls. The tiles were perfect for his needs. Lifting the clock high over his head, he slammed it down on the ground as hard as he could. With a jangle of bells and a tinkle of shattered glass, it dashed into uncountable pieces. Castiel's legs were peppered by shards but none penetrated his slacks. He wished they had. He wanted to hurt. Dean was in trouble because of him, Alastair might yet get off scott-free, and Castiel's dreams of a lovely weekend searching for a house with his boyfriend – his tentative plan to propose the following evening – was destroyed as surely as the clock was.

Breathing hard, Castiel returned to his office, wiping his hands uselessly on his thighs. Picking up the phone, he dialed Facilities.

"Yes, this is Mr. Novak. I'm sorry to inconvenience you but I've made a mess in the 20th floor executive bathroom and I'd like someone to clean it up."

He paused.

"Actually, never mind. I'll take care of it."

Castiel slammed the phone down and went to the janitorial closet to pull out a broom and dustpan.

It was time for Castiel to start cleaning up his own messes.

* * *

Tapping his foot nervously, Castiel waited by the door to the suite. It had been an endless day. He hadn't slept the night before, too nervous about Dean alone at the police station. Castiel had gone in to the local precinct to file an official police report about his encounters with Alastair and the threats that Alastair had made. He'd hoped to catch a glimpse of Dean while he was there but he didn't have the opportunity. Fitzgerald assured him that things were going well but could give no details. Dean had sent him a single text.

 _Dean (8:44 PM): omw back. Can't talk battery is dying._

Since then, Castiel had returned from working at the Sandover building, ordered them hamburgers and beers from room service, and now it was nearly 9:30, Castiel had no idea what the delay was. The room reeked of cooked meat. Castiel couldn't focus on anything, so instead he bounced on his heels and stared at the doorway that he hoped would open any moment.

The elevator pinged.

Castiel launched himself at Dean the instant he stepped into the room. Startled, Dean caught him and held him.

"You're okay, Cas," he murmured reassuringly.

"You idiot," Castiel mumbled, "I'm worried about _you_."

"Don't be," Dean replied, drawing back and sniffing the air curiously. "Didn't get nothin' I didn't deserve. And Fitzgerald is a fricken saint. He watched those videos with me, smiled at me nice as you'd like as if he _hadn't_ just watched me torture some poor SOB, and then offered me immunity from prosecution if I'd tell him everything I know about Alastair. That was a fucking no-brainer, let me tell you. Shoulda done this fucking years ago. Do I smell burgers?"

Nodding, Castiel stepped back and gestured invitation to the dining room table. The staff member who'd brought up the cart with their food had set everything up, an elegant table cloth and lit candles an amusing contrast to the water beading on the outside of their beer bottles and their hamburgers – still fundamentally burgers no matter how fancy the hotel restaurant tried to make them.

"Holy shit. You're fuckin' amazing, Cas, you know that? I'm fricken _starved_." Dean huffed a laugh as he crossed the room and grabbed one of the seats. For no reason he could explain, Castiel was frozen in place, staring. The candle light painted Dean's face in shades of yellow and gold, highlighted blond streaks in his brown hair. Dean looked up, eyes twinkling and eager, and caught Castiel looking. "What? Something stuck in my teeth?"

"Marry me," Castiel breathed. Dazed, he realized what he'd said, flushed and looked away. "I mean…" So much for all his carefully considered plans. "Shit."

Dean goggled at him. "What?"

The ring was in his pocket. Castiel had originally planned to propose that night, after looking at houses. He'd made reservations. He'd planned it down to the last detail. He'd cancelled everything when he'd stumbled home the previous night. Even if Dean was free, Castiel didn't think it fair to expect Dean to be up for anything fancy. It could wait. It wasn't important.

"Marry me?" he repeated hesitantly. He pulled the velvet-covered box from his pocket and held it out, hand shaking.

Until the words left his mouth he hadn't realized how much he needed this. What would he do if Dean didn't say yes?

"Really, Cas?" breathed Dean. The candle flames flickered and swayed. Long shadows danced against the wall behind Dean. Castiel nodded. "Fuck."

"Fuck" wasn't "yes."

Castiel's knees went out.

Dean was there a heartbeat later, taking the box from his hand, kneeling next to him, holding him tight.

"Of course I'll marry you, you fricken…you…" Dean whispered the words in his ear. "Like how the fuck are you even real?"

"You're it for me, Dean," Castiel mumbled. "You must know that."

"Well fuck, I guess I know now," Dean replied.

"Will you look at the ring?" Castiel drew away, loathe to lose Dean's heat but desperate to know Dean's reaction, to see the ring encircling his finger.

Wide-eyed and intent, Dean flicked the box open. The dark metal band caught the candlelight and glowed with surprising luster, the string of tiny embedded diamonds twinkling. Castiel had debated not getting any stones in the ring but he'd wanted an excuse to buy Dean a wedding ring, separate from the engagement ring, and stones would make the two distinguishable. Dean's fingers trembled as he pulled the ring out of the box and ran his thumb along the edges. Catching the different texture of the inscription within, Dean frowned and held the ring up to the light to better see. Castiel couldn't read it from where he knelt but he knew what it said. When he'd first had the idea he'd felt so _certain_ it was the correct course, but he'd felt increasingly silly about it since. Now, every nerve fired painfully as he dreaded Dean's reaction to reading the simple script that said:

 _You're mine, sir._

"Damn right I am," Dean muttered. Limp with relief, Castiel collapsed back on his heels as Dean slipped the ring onto his hand and admired it. "Perfect fricken fit, too. Dude, when did you do this?"

"Like a month ago," Castiel admitted. "Gilda helped me pick it out. I haven't had the nerve…I mean…there was always some reason not to tell you, not to ask you, and I just…well…now you know."

Grinning, Dean leaned towards Castiel and placed a hand on each of his cheeks. The metal of the ring was chill against Castiel's heated flesh. "Damn—" He kissed Castiel. "—right—" Another kiss. "—I—" Another. "—know." Another. "Gonna be my husband, Cas." The full sentence was followed by a long, languid kiss, Dean's tongue flicking teasingly at Castiel's lips. "Better get you a ring." The kisses went straight to Castiel's head, amplifying his disorienting relief, leaving him dizzy. "You know what it's gonna say?"

"No," Castiel breathed, swaying. Only Dean's grip on him kept Castiel upright.

"I'm yours, boy."

It was a long time before they got around to eating dinner.

It was even longer before Castiel came, screaming, as Dean cut the fourth set of feathers into his back.

* * *

"What do you think, Dean?"

Every house they'd seen in Dallas had been spectacular. When the _least_ expensive options they were considering cost a million dollars, it wasn't surprising that they were all remarkable. However, as Castiel had learned to his chagrin, remarkable and spectacular didn't necessarily equate to nice. Most were garish, or in bad taste, or opulent to the point of ludicrousness.

This house was none of those things.

This house was perfect.

"I, uh," Dean side-eyed their real estate agent. When they'd first started looking at houses almost six weeks before, she'd promised that their opinion mattered to her only to the extent that it helped her choose more appropriate properties to show them. If they hated something, she explained, they needed to tell her. The advice had been sound; by giving Sarah frequent feedback, she'd done an excellent job of narrowing down the possibilities to find them a house that fit their needs. "Well, Cas, remember how I was describing to you, um, certain uses I'd like to put some of the rooms to?"

"Of course I remember, Dean." Castiel kept the heat from showing on his face as he remembered the relish with which Dean had described his ideal play room.

"Well, I was thinkin' that bedroom with the built-in cabinets would be perfect for that," said Dean. Castiel nodded. "And I could convert one of the other bedrooms into a small studio."

"We'd still have plenty of bedrooms to accommodate guests," agreed Castiel. "This is the first house we've seen where the white cabinets in the kitchen don't look ridiculous."

"I was hoping you'd feel that way," Sarah said with relief. "You'd said 'no more white kitchens' but in this house I thought it worked."

"The fireplace is the ugliest shit I've ever seen…" Dean grimaced.

"But I like the outdoor arrangement," said Castiel, glancing out the window of the dining room to the slate patio in the back yard, complete with a beautiful wooden lattice overhead and a stone fireplace.

"I guess," Dean side-eyed the view. "Is it ever cold enough in Dallas that we're gonna want to sit outside and roast our asses?"

"As with every house we've seen, some modifications would be desirable – I'll definitely want to put a pool in – but I think we could make this one work," said Castiel.

"I do too," Dean said quietly, looking around.

"That's great!" said Sarah brightly, casually brushing her dark hair back from her face. "The sellers are asking $2,075,000. I can call the broker and run a bid by them, if you know what you'd like to offer."

"How about two million flat?" Dean said, half statement, half question.

"We'd be paying in full upfront," Castiel added, though Sarah knew that.

"Sounds good! Excited?" Sarah asked.

"Nervous," Castiel admitted.

"Fuck that, I'm pumped," laughed Dean.

That night, Dean used Castiel as a foot rest and a table, bound and gagged and blindfolded. Dean burned him with an over-hot plate, made him kneel until he couldn't feel his knees, and carved the fifth set of feathers into his back. The best part was the massage the end, sweet-smelling lotion working out every ache and pain except the recurring, evocative twitches from his new lacerations.

* * *

"Um, here."

Dean thrust a non-descript box at Castiel and walked away.

"Is something the matter, Dean?" Castiel called after him, concerned.

"Just open the damn box, will you?" Dean disappeared into the bedroom.

Castiel opened the box.

Within was a delicate, filigreed ring set with an impressively large sapphire. The inside of the band was inscribed, as promised, _I'm yours, boy_ , in an angular, sloppy script that Castiel recognized as Dean's own handwriting.

Dammit, Castiel wished he'd thought of that.

It was hours later, well past midnight, when Dean finally took pity on Castiel and let him fill the fleshlight with come, and only because he'd managed to work it over his cock the entire time Dean sliced the sixth set of feathers.

* * *

"Sam, once you pick your jaw up off the floor, maybe you'd like to meet our realtor, Sarah Blake?" Dean laughed at Sam, who stared abashedly at Sarah.

"Thanks again for inviting me to the house warming," Sarah spoke ostensibly to Dean but she gave Sam assessing look. Sam colored and coughed, glancing at the grass, doing a terrible job of pretending he hadn't been staring.

"Well, ya know, we don't know many folks locally," Dean explained with a shrug. "What good's hosting a bar-b-q party if no one comes?"

"We're grateful for your diligence in helping us find a home," Castiel added.

"So anyway, this is Sam, my kid brother, but don't let that throw you off cause unlike me, he's a little bitch," Dean continued, grinning.

"Dean!"

"He's wrapping up a veterinary degree at A&M, so he's an Aggie – if I'm remembering right, you graduate from UT, but don't hold the Aggie thing against him, it's not his fault." The longer Dean talked the more mortified Sam looked.

"If it helps, I hate College Station," Sam mumbled.

"What's your opinion of Dallas?" asked Sarah. There was an assessing look in her eye, a gleam that suggested she liked what she saw.

"It, uh, well it has its advantages," hedged Sam. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "It's not my favorite place in the world but my brother lives here, and I was thinking I could do worse than to live near him."

"Really, Sammy?" Dean exclaimed.

"I mean, if you wanted…"

"Fuck, yeah!"

"Okay, cool, I—"

"You'll need someplace to stay," interjected Sarah smoothly. "As it happens, I know an _excellent_ realtor, helped your brother and his fiancé find this wonderful house perfectly suited to their needs."

"Really?" Sam brightened. Dean stared at the exchange avidly, as if watching a soap opera or a sitcom unfold, and Castiel picked at the sleeve of Dean's shirt until Dean realized that this was when they should leave the budding couple alone. As they walked away to mingle with Charlie and Gilda and some of Dean's other local friends from the BDSM scene, Castiel could hear Sam shyly saying, "Before I could contact the realtor I'd need her – you did say it was a woman, right? – I'd need her phone number…"

"You took me away just as things were getting interesting," Dean muttered. "I'll have to punish you for that."

"I look forward to it," Castiel replied sincerely. They were still figuring out the best configuration for the play room. They'd agreed it would take a great deal of trial and error to get things perfectly right.

That night, after Dean finished scarring the seventh set of feathers, they agreed that the room would look far better with slat-board blinds and that, while the black pads were a nice idea in theory, they were oppressively dark in practice. Neither knew what color to use instead. Something easy on his knees, Castiel suggested, as if color had anything to do with that. Something that showed blood, Dean suggested.

Clearly, they'd need more trial and error before they could decide.

* * *

"Mr. Winchester, one final question for you." Alastair's lawyer, a creepy man named Azazel, met Dean's eyes and smiled knowingly.

"Hey, it's your horse-and-pony show, ask as many fucking questions as you want," Dean snapped. Castiel flinched on Dean's behalf, finger nails digging painfully into the wooden bench before him. He'd maintained his white-knuckled grip for so long that he didn't think he could unlock the joints. No matter how many soothing touches Gilda and Charlie swept down his thighs and forearms, Castiel remained tense.

"Your honor, please remind the witness not to speak when he hasn't been asked a question," Azazel said.

"Mr. Winchester…" reprimanded Judge Carnegie. Castiel wished Judge Mills had gotten this case. Judge Carnegie was less opened minded, less forgiving, less sensible. Dean scowled but held his tongue.

"What are your plans for this evening, Mr. Winchester?"

"Objection – relevance?" Fitzgerald stood and quirked an eyebrow.

"Mr. Azazel?" The judge turned the question to the lawyer.

"Your honor, I will demonstrate that no matter how contrite he appears, Mr. Winchester hasn't changed his ways in the least, and that in painting my client as the villain of the piece Mr. Fitzgerald has made a deal with the devil – and that devil is Mr. Winchester," Mr. Azazel explained.

"Judge Carnegie should have made Azazel go to the bench to explain that," muttered Charlie angrily. "Now he got to say all that in front of the jury and everyone! This is such bullshit."

"Why didn't Fitzgerald stop him?" added Gilda. Castiel shook his head. He didn't know.

"I'll allow it," said Carnegie.

"Your honor, this is _grossly_ prejudicial and irrelevant testimony!" Mr. Fitzgerald exclaimed, frustrated for the first time that Castiel had ever seen.

"What, afraid of what your witness will confess to when he answers a question you haven't schooled him on?" Azazel replied.

"May we approach the bench to continue this conversation?"

"No," Judge Carnegie cut off the debate. He sounded bored. "Answer the question, Winchester."

"I've got a date with my fiancé," Dean replied tightly. Dean had a scene planned; before they'd left for court, Dean had calmed his nerves by binding Castiel tightly beneath Castiel's suit, heavy thick leather that chafed at his skin and rubbed at his nipples. Without explanation or apology, Dean had stuffed Castiel's cock in a cage and barely lubricated him before shoving in a vibrating butt plug. It was awkward and uncomfortable to sit in the courtroom prepared for the evening, but there was no danger of Castiel being asked to expose himself, not this time, and the periodic glances that Dean had shot Castiel's way demonstrated that his presence and his submission were helping Dean cope with his strenuous, unpleasant cross-examination. Castiel would have suffered far greater humiliation to keep his boyfriend, his husband-to-be, his dom, happy.

"Really, just a date?"

"Your honor!"

"Enough, Mr. Azazel, we don't need the gory details," grunted Carnegie. "You're done, Winchester."

"Thank you, your honor."

Dean walked proudly down from the stand.

Charlie and Gilda begged off dinner, correctly assessing Dean's terrible mood. Instead, Dean and Castiel returned home and, taking deep breaths to keep himself calm, Castiel offered himself up.

There was no quarter given that night. Testifying had torn Dean to shreds and, exhausted and stressed, he worked out all his frustration and anger on Castiel's body. A whipping tore Castiel's lower back, ass and sides; the scalpel cut the eighth set of feathers; and Castiel wept silently next to Dean as they lay in bed together, still hard after having release denied to him.

Dean made it up to him the next day, treating his wounds, easing his injuries, cooking him dinner, making love to him sweetly, apologizing every few words. There was no apology necessary, though. As long as what they did was consensual, Castiel didn't mind getting beaten bloody from time to time. Indeed, he enjoyed it. Throughout the following days, he was aware of his wounds, aware of the pain, aware of the secret bruises and welts and cuts hidden beneath his tailored suit, and he _adored_ having that secret, something that was all his and no one else's.

Castiel wouldn't change a thing about their relationship. Except Dean's habit of tossing his dirty laundry next to the hamper instead of picking it up and placing it in the bin.

* * *

"You never look at them," Dean observed as they stood beside each other in the master bathroom, brushing their teeth. Mornings had been more fun since they'd started getting ready to leave at the same time – Castiel heading to work and Dean heading to the gym before going to his new studio. Now that Dean was based more in Dallas than in Kansas City, they were having to learn each other all over again. So far, it had gone wonderfully.

"I'm don't know what you mean," Castiel said, wiping his freshly-cleaned mouth with a washcloth.

"Your back," Dean clarified. "I figured you must sometimes try to see your wings in the mirror, but you never do. At least, not when I'm around."

"No," Castiel smiled, "I never do. I don't need to see them. I know they're there. I can feel my clothing rubbing against them, feel the twinges as they heal. I trust that you're doing a good job. Maybe when they're done, I'll ask you to take a picture and show it to me. It's not about how they look now, it's about choice. My old scars were largely the result of punishments I neither wanted nor deserved, exacted against my will. The pain didn't bother me – often I enjoyed it – but they represented so much more than that. Naomi's touch, still lingering. I never wanted her to touch me again, but I was always aware of the scars. It was like I'd never been free of her."

"Woah, kinda deep for 6 in the morning, Cas," Dean laughed.

"These feathers are different," Castiel continued, undeterred, turning to stare into Dean's face. Dean froze, meeting his eyes. "I chose this. I wanted this. I requested it of you, and you've kindly granted it to me. This is my opportunity to remake _myself_ into a form of my own choosing. You're the agent for that change, but I'm the instigator. For that, it's enough for me to _know_ that they're there. I'm in the process of _becoming_ , I don't need to see it unfolding."

"You've thought about this a lot."

"Yes, I have," Castiel nodded, "and talked to Dr. Ellicott about it a lot, too."

"Get on the bed, Cas."

"Huh?"

"I need to see you _becoming_ again. Or maybe just coming."

"Classy, Dean," Castiel grinned, though. "I have to get to work."

"Bull, I know you don't _need_ to get there this early."

No, he didn't.

They hadn't carved another set of feathers in over a month, not since Dean testified against Alastair. Dean felt guilty over how badly he'd hurt Castiel that time and had been playing gentle since then.

As pleasant as the soft touches and sweet words were, being coddled was driving Castiel crazy. He _liked_ to hurt sometimes. He _wanted_ to hurt.

He lay on his stomach on the bed in 5 seconds flat.

There was nothing violent or loud involved in carving the ninth set of feathers. Every slice was a caress, every whispered word a blessing, every flare of pain cathartic, and when they finally both came, it was as sweet and gentle as the most tender affection could be. It _was_ the most tender affection. As unorthodox as it was, for them this was bliss.

* * *

"Fitzgerald cracked Alastair," Dean said excitedly.

"What?" Castiel had been concentrating so intently on his work, and had been so alarmed to see a phone call from Dean spring up on his caller ID in the middle of the day, that he scarce tracked the words, too worried that something dreadful had happened.

"Doofy, silly Fitzgerald who goes to fricken children's hospitals on the weekend so that his sock puppet can read to children _cracked Alastair Rolston_ ," Dean crowed. "Got him to admit that he fucking killed Meg. Under oath. While on the stand."

" _How_?" asked Castiel, all distractions falling away.

"I couldn't fuckin' tell you," Dean replied. "I mean I was there and it was just, like, fucking magic. Fitzgerald kept at him and kept at him, played to all of Alastair's egocentric bullshit, got him all riled up because Alastair doesn't _make_ mistakes, right? He's a pro at this. He's the best. So if something happens under his knife, or under the knife of his protégé, it's because he _meant_ it to happen. And even knowing that Fitzgerald was baiting the fuck outta him, Alastair fell for it hook, line and sinker."

"Alastair _murdered_ Meg?" Castiel stammered.

"Yeah, 'pears so," Dean agreed more solemnly. "And fuck do I feel bad about that. She'd never have gotten into the life if not for me. You'd have liked her. She was awesome. We coulda had some fuckin' hot three-ways."

"…please tell me you're not thinking about necrophilia," said Castiel. Dean laughed.

"No, fuck no, that's…no," Dean said. "I just…I feel kinda crazy guilty but at the same time I'm so damn happy that he finally fucked something up, and I'm pissed at myself that I don't feel more sad cause shouldn't I, but I can't feel said cause Alastair is going to be locked up for the rest of his fucking life. Even fucking Judge Carnegie couldn't ignore a murder confession. Basically, Alastair is fucked. It's…it's awesome."

"That's great, Dean." Relief flooded in. The trial hadn't been going well and Castiel had grown concerned that Alastair would walk free or receive only a minimal sentence. Few of Alastair's submissives – victims? – had been found, and most of those who had been refused to testify. A statistically unlikely number of those Alastair had scened with were dead. Fitzgerald had mentioned, in passing, that there was a real possibility that Alastair was a serial killer but without any bodies as proof there wasn't much that could be done, and though charges had been brought against him in previous cases, he'd been acquitted each time and double jeopardy rules meant he couldn't be tried again despite the obvious pattern.

A confession changed everything.

"So, um, Cas – tonight – can we…?"

"Anything you want, Dean," said Castiel.

"Awesome."

"I look forward to it."

It was one of the strangest scenes Castiel had ever done, and showed him how profoundly important carving the feathers into Castiel's back had become for Dean. Every stroke was a benediction, an apology. Instead of whispering endearments or praise or rebukes, Dean whispered about Meg, his first girlfriend, his first sub, his first – after a fashion – love. Castiel shuddered and moaned and whimpered and realized that, no matter what the cuts meant for Castiel, for Dean each slice was an attempt at absolution, a reminder that Castiel wasn't an unwilling victim. Each feather was visual proof that Castiel _wanted_ the pain that Dean offered, that their relationship was built on consensus and trust and love.

Hot tears struck Castiel's back as Dean bandaged the tenth set of feathers, but Castiel said nothing. He didn't think Dean would want Castiel to acknowledge that he was crying.

* * *

"Are you _sure_?" Dean asked for the fifth time.

"Dean…" Castiel said warningly.

"You're gonna be on your feet all day," Dean pointed out. "People are gonna, like, hug you and shit. We're gonna dance – we _are_ gonna dance, right? – and like kiss and…whatever the fuck people do at this kinda shindig. I know you dig pain but this is gonna hurt like _woah_."

"I'm not sure how much _woah_ hurts but I'm aware that this will be painful. This isn't the first set of feathers, Dean."

"No, but listen, this is the last bit, down at the lower part of your back, it's gonna hurt more, it's gonna stretch and pull every time you bend. I figured we'd do it during the honeymoon, when you'd have time to heal." Dean sounded desperate.

"If you don't wish to do this now, we don't have to," said Castiel, trying to figure out what the actual problem was.

"No, fuck, I want to," Dean grabbed Castiel's hand and pressed it to the bulge at the front of his trousers, "fuck do I want to, but it…it worries me."

"It's my choice, Dean," said Castiel patiently.

"I know – I know." Dean nodded as if convincing himself.

"You did _bring_ everything, right?"

"Well, yeah, like I said, I was hoping…in a few days…so I packed it all in my checked bag," said Dean.

"Please," Castiel implored.

Dean nodded slow acknowledgement.

Minutes later, Castiel sat in the enormous hot tub in their suite, a pillow propped beneath his arms to hold his weight as he leaned forward, and his tension drain away. It was his wedding day. He had a right to be tense but he'd grown so anxious that he was no longer excited. As worked up as he'd grown, there was no way he'd be able to enjoy himself. As Dean cut, all Castiel's concerns disappeared. Even if the day was a disaster nothing would change between them. The blood from the last set of feathers, carved deep into Castiel's lower back, ran down the drain, and Castiel sighed happily.

"Don't forget to pack Carrie," Dean called from the bathroom as he cleaned up afterwards. The stuffed cat lay flopped on the bed, a bit worn and tattered by the hard use it had seen since Gilda had given it to him almost two years before. Castiel had saved packing it for last, so that he could give it one last hug before heading out to confront – amuse? entertain? – their guests.

He could do this.

Smiling, Castiel finished packing, laid out his outfit for the day, and helped Dean finish his own preparations.

Everything was under control.

Everything – everything that _mattered_ – was perfect.

* * *

"Oh my _God_ , Castiel!" gushed Charlie the instant Castiel answered his phone. "Oh, wow! Holy…! Dean did that to your back? Have you guys been working on this the whole time?"

"I take it the magazine arrived at the store," Castiel replied dryly.

After their honeymoon, after life returned to normal, after Dean finished up his last jobs in Kansas City, after Castiel settled in to spending most of his time in Dallas, after Dean cut Castiel's back a handful more times to adjust and correct and perfect his wings, after the wounds had healed completely, Dean had brought Castiel into his studio for an art shoot.

"Um, ya think?" Charlie exclaimed.

They spent a day together, tying Castiel in different ways, making love, playing with toys, decorating Castiel's body, treating him like an objet d'art. The pauses during which Dean took photographs felt natural, a progressive flow that started soft and mild and culminated in Castiel's orgasm, eyes rolling back in his head, tears streaking his face, come pooling between his thighs and soaking in to the ropes that bound him. He'd felt loved. He'd felt whole. He'd felt free. He'd felt beautiful.

"Is that Castiel?" Castiel heard Gilda call faintly from the other end of the line. "Tell him he looks amazing!"

Dean showed Castiel the photographs before allowing anyone else to view them and asked Castiel's consent to share them with others.

It was the first time he saw his wings.

"Thank you."

Each image was more spectacular than the last. Dean was an excellent photographer and these were his best work. Castiel didn't hesitate to grant his permission for Dean to seek to exhibit the work. Castiel's back was a work of art and every binding framed the intricately carved, accentuated them, added to them, until Castiel looked in some shots as if he might fly in truth.

"How long have you guys been keeping this a secret?" Charlie asked.

Taking a chance, Dean submitted the images to Rolling Stone. They accepted. None of the explicit photographs would appear in the magazine, but a dozen shots were chosen in total, depicting Castiel in various states of undress, various states of bondage, various states of arousal.

"Almost six months," Castiel admitted. "Have you gotten your invitation yet?"

Dean saved the pornographic images for the gallery show featuring his work that was set to open next month. It was his first foray into the art world, Dean's first time accepting the possibility that his photographs were museum-worthy works of art, and Castiel thought it long over-due.

"Invitation?" Charlie squeaked excitedly.

Castiel was looking forward to attending the opening. Many of their friends had been invited. Many important clients of Dean's had been invited. Many representatives of modern art museums had been invited. _Joshua_ had been invited. Castiel was nervous, but he was ready to come out of the shadows. His name had become known all over the country because of his supposed deviance, but Naomi and Adler and Alastair were behind bars and he and Dean were free. They were innocent. They were kinky but they hadn't done anything _wrong_. Almost everyone who knew Castiel knew what he'd been through, and he'd been shocked by how understanding people were, how many had shame-facedly confessed that sometimes, they liked to be tied up, or they enacted rape fantasies with their partners, or they got off to reading 50 Shades of Gray, or – or – or. Everyone, it seemed, was a _little_ kinky, and after Castiel's public exposure he'd become a safe person to speak to about their dirty little secrets. It grew tiresome sometimes but it was also empowering. Somehow, he'd become a symbol for many people who'd always felt they were broken and deviant for enjoying non-standard sexual behavior. He'd become a symbol of sexual liberation and honesty, and most people he met appreciated him for it.

"I won't spoil the surprise."

Not everyone, but most people.

"Aw, come on!"

For the rest, Castiel still had Assistant District Attorney Fitzgerald on speed dial.

"I bet it'll come today," Castiel laughed. "If it doesn't, call me tonight and I'll explain, I promise."

He was still anxious sometimes, but he wasn't afraid any longer.

"Oh, fine." She was sticking out her tongue. She must be. No one could sound that petulant and _not_ stick their tongue out.

The medicine helped, Dr. Ellicott helped, their friends and family helped, Dean helped.

"I gotta go."

Life wasn't perfect.

"Fine, fine, t-t-y-l, Cas."

No one's life was perfect.

"That Charlie?" Dean asked sleepily as Castiel tossed the phone aside and snuggled up once more.

Perfect was for fairy tales.

"Yeah," Castiel yawned and let his eyes slip shut.

With Dean, Castiel was happier than he'd ever dreamed of being, happier than he'd dared imagine he had any right to be.

"Love you, Cas," Dean murmured, half-asleep.

"I love you too, Dean."

Okay, maybe life was a _little_ perfect.

* * *

ENDNOTES:

(reminder: if you want to see versions of stuff with links, etc., you should really come over to AO3 to read my stuff. Bonus, if you leave comments/reviews there, I can actually reply. As a general note, I'm growing increasingly frustrated with FF dot net as a posting platform for a variety of reasons not worth enumerating here. I'm tentatively planning to continue to post my WIP stories here but I'm seriously debating whether to continue to add new works to this account. For updates on this topic, follow me or check out my Tumblr, unforth-ninawaters dot tumblr dot com)

Thing 1: I used Trulia to find an appropriate home for them, and modeled the one in the story off one of those.

Thing 2: True story, my uncle is a professor at the Texas A&M veterinary school. He hates College Station, and I do too. I've spent about six months of my life there, spread over multiple visits.

Thing 3: As always I don't know shit about actual legal proceedings. Sorry.

Thing 4: I was requested to include some images in this chapter like I'd done in some earlier chapters but I'm not going to be able to do so. I don't have the time to really look up appropriate stuff, and there's only a couple things I think it'd be appropriate to include as photographs anyway (…such as Dean's gallery shots, but where would I ever find something that specific?). However, I did find some examples of feather tattoos created with scarification tattoos. Take a peak at my tumblr for an example of what Castiel's back looks like (keeping in mind that Dean was working over existing scars, so Castiel's aren't quite this "clean," also I think the ones in these images were mostly branded, whereas Cas' are cut.)

Thing 5: Um, I tried to wrap everything up…did I miss anything? I'm willing to add a few more short time stampy scenes (like the ones throughout this last chapter) if y'all bring it up in the next few days but after that I'm calling this story done and moving on to other stuff. (I'll set a cut off of Sept 9th, 2016, sound fair? If I haven't heard your request for closure on some plot point by then, I'll call it finished and answer any questions folks have in short comment replies instead).

Thing 6: I have no idea what I'm going to be working on next; I've been putting together some plans regarding my original work. I can't go into detail on here without violating FFdotnet's Terms of Service so keep an eye on my Tumblr (again, that's unforth-ninawaters dot tumblr dot com) if you might be interested in having an opportunity to support me by reading my original work. I'm hoping to make this happen in the next couple weeks.

Thing 7: Thank you all so, so much for reading this and sticking with me. This is the second longest writing project I've ever completed, and it's been a slog for me at times. The feedback I've gotten from y'all has really kept me going. Without readers, I am not a writer. I don't know how to thank you all enough for your many kindnesses to me. Keep being awesome! *heart!*


End file.
